National Interest
by SappyGemstone
Summary: It isn't safe to love a nation, especially a nation as steeped in confusion, regret, pride and hope as Russia. Can love mesh with political intrigue and a country in turmoil?
1. Chapter 1

I've seen quite a few stories about the love between a human and a Nation, and I knew I had to throw my hat into the ring. Ladies and gents, I present my argument against falling in love with a country! Most countries in the story are, as always, not my own characters. All humans OCs are mine. Rated T for the various swearings and sexy times. Russia's characterization is carried over from my story "A Gift of the Heart." This story is set "In the near future" - anything that reflects current national issues is a coincidence.* I always appreciate reviews, both the good and the critical, so thank you in advance if you choose to leave one!

*Update! As I was working on this story, a couple of the events that I had planned actually came to pass in actual Russia. I assure you, I had my notes ready BEFORE the protests in Russia occurred, and I am not riffing on current events. It is really and truly a major coincidence.

* * *

><p>A warm summer wind ruffled the leaves in the park, the shushing of the trees momentarily drowning out the shouts of children and the ever present roar of traffic. Groups of old pensioners took up every available bench, chessboards lying between each pair. Every man, whether playing or watching, mulled over the boards, sighs and tsks and murmurs made for each move of every board. Every board but that of a young man's. The tall, stocky man was alone, sitting on a bench in the middle of the group; no opponent faced him, no spectator watched over him. The breeze ruffled his sandy hair as he stared at the board, fist against his lips. A hand hovered over the pieces for minutes at a time, then swish, click! A piece was quickly snatched and moved. He played both sides, never favoring one over the other.<p>

Emma shifted from foot to foot, fingering the handle to her satchel. She watched the young man for a moment, biting her lip.

"Come on, girl," she said under her breath. "It's not so hard. A little courage!"

She nodded her head, walked smartly up to the bench with the lone young man, sat down and smiled.

"Good day!" she said, her voice a little loud. The man looked up, a bemused expression on his face. He stared at Emma, his eyes flickering a bit before clearing. A small, somewhat sheepish smile brushed his lips. He said nothing. Emma cleared her throat.

"Health to you!" she said, smiling a little wider. "I notice you play alone! Every time in the park I am, to play you are alone, actually. Never with these nice men." She waved a hand toward a group of pensioners. "I think to self, very terrible this is."

She paused. The man continued to stare with his small smile.

"I think, maybe I can to play, and you will never be alone," Emma barreled on, nervously grabbing a bishop from the board and rolling it between her hands. "Chess is very good and better with two, yes?"

The young man watched her hands move back and forth with the piece. There was a small silence between them filled with the sighs and moans of the pensioners.

"Your Russian is only so-so," he said. "I have heard better. Though I have also heard much, much worse."

Emma gasped.

"Oh! You speak English," she said, blushing. The man held out his palm. She dropped the bishop into his open hand. "And you let me struggle through, even though you could tell I spoke it, too."

"I was waiting to see if you had anything interesting to say in my own tongue," the man said as he arranged the pieces on his board. "I was tired of the wait. And your accent was obvious. From Britain?"

"Australia," Emma said, watching the man's hands fly. "Perth."

"Australia. Interesting nation. Very chatty." He straightened the pieces, now arranged in two lines, and turned the board so that white was in front of him. His deft fingers snatched a knight and put it into play. Emma stared at the board, not registering the attack. The young man cocked his head.

"You wish to play, yes?"

"Oh!" Emma's blush deepened. She moved a pawn forward on the board.

Five moves later, her king was cornered. The young man's smile grew a little wider. His eyes flickered.

"Checkmate," he said, toppling her king. Again he arranged the pieces, this time leading with a pawn. Six moves and Emma was defeated. The board was set. Five moves and Emma crumbled. The young man furrowed his brows, his smile still fixed in place.

"You do know this game, yes?" He said.

"Yes!" Emma snapped. She met the man's steady gaze. "Well, I thought I did," she mumbled. "I guess I was wrong."

"Hmmm."

In the distance a church bell chimed the time. The man cocked an ear to the sound, swept the pieces off the board, flipped the board, and scooped the pieces into the hollow of the board's bottom. The board folded into a small box, which the man closed with a click. He rose from the bench and held out a hand.

"Call me Ivan," he said.

"Emma." She took his hand and he lifted her to her feet.

"Emma." Ivan nodded. "Your Russian is unpleasant and your chess is awful. I cannot remedy either."

"I see." Emma hung her head.

"Not today, anyway," Ivan continued, pulling out a pocket watch and giving it a look. "But you will come again to the park, yes?"

She snapped her head up, eyes wide.

"It would be rude not to attend to a visitor of Russia's," he said with a shrug and a smile.

"Yes, then! Of course! I'll…I'll come again!"

Ivan looked at her for a moment, then turned and walked away, right hand up in a wave. Emma held her breath until he disappeared behind a copse of trees, then threw her fists into the air and squealed. The old men on the benches glanced up at her, shook their grizzled heads and attended to the games once more. Emma ignored them, walking quickly out of the park as she pulled her cell from her pocket and dialed.

"Lyudmila? Yes. YES! I know, yes, it went good, very much good! We not to talk very much – what you mean Russian not good when excited?"

* * *

><p>Russia ruffled through the pages of the report then closed the two inch binder that contained it.<p>

"I am unsure why you have given this to me," he said, propping his elbow on the report and leaning a cheek against his hand. "You tell me what I must do and I do it. This is my job."

"A flippant response to an important issue."Russia's boss sat across the conference table, hands folded in front of him, eyes narrowed. "I know that you are not as pliable as you claim. Your history precedes you."

Russia shrugged.

"The people believe in you," he drawled. "It is not my place to rise up against you."

"Lies!"Russia's boss slammed a fist against the table. "I know there is a hateful undercurrent in this nation! Yet you refuse to tell me –"

"I am also they,"Russia cut in, lifting his head. His eyes shined. "I would not betray myself."

He shoved the report across the table.

"You should not claim this land. Not now,"Russia said softly. "The people believe in you. They will crave what you crave. For now." He stood. "But not always, sir. And not if you make claims for things that are not ours."

"But you will do what I say," the Boss snarled.

Russia smiled.

"For now."


	2. Chapter 2

Emma threw up her arms in disgust as Ivan toppled her king for the third time that afternoon. She snarled and pulled her fingers through her tangle of short, black curls. When she arrived at the park, each curl was sleek and perfectly coiffed, matching her polished look; a long, blue, airy blouse that stretched to her hips, brown, tasseled belt around her waist, white, pleated bell-skirt that stopped just above the knees, brown ankle boots paired with blue knee-high tights. Now the belt was askew, the tights snagged where the bench had caught them and her curls were gradually reaching a state of ultimate frizz.

Not that it mattered. Ivan barely glanced at her as she approached him, hips attempting a sway. He merely waved, arranged the board and motioned for her to sit, and then proceeded to thoroughly thrash her. All of Emma's thoughts of possible flirtation lay buried under every defeat.

He looked up from the board and smiled at her.

"I enjoy winning," he said, leaning towards her a bit. "I have never felt poorly about a victory. You…are pushing me close to knowing how a guilty win feels."

"Well, maybe if you didn't always have the advantage, I wouldn't lose so spectacularly every damn time," Emma snapped, jabbing a finger at the white pieces littering the board. Ivan lifted his brows.

"You think this is the problem? Very well." He shrugged, set up the pieces and turned the board. "Go on then."

She narrowed her eyes and pushed a pawn into play. Ivan countered. She moves. Five. Six. Seven.

"Check," said Ivan, threatening with his rook. Emma quickly snatched his rook with her bishop, only to have it taken by his queen.

"Check."

A quick switch with king and rook, a pawn sacrificed, her queen taking a bishop. Ivan looked up.

"Why take that piece?" he said, threatening her queen with his knight.

"It's important," Emma said, quickly moving her queen out of harm's way.

Ivan shook his head and threatened the king with his queen.

"Check," he said. "You play chess like it is this game, which is it…checkers! Yes."

Emma moved the king. He shifted a rook. She took a pawn. He taunted her king with a knight. He shook his head again as Emma snagged his knight with her queen.

"Not every piece must be taken," he said, shifting his queen on the board. Emma raced her queen to his and snatched up the black piece. Ivan calmly took her queen with his second knight. "And no piece is more important than the other. All are important. All can be sacrificed. Checkmate." Rook, bishop and knight surrounded her sovereign. He pushed her king over. Emma glumly watched as it rocked back and forth on the board.

"Well, I lasted longer this time," she said, shaking out her curls. "So you did have the advantage with white. I was right about that!"

Ivan shrugged and smiled.

"You still lost," he said.

"Well –"

"Also, you played differently this time. Much more attack. Much less defense."

"Well of course!" Emma said, crossing her arms and frowning. "I was the attacking side!"

Ivan looked at her with bemused amusement.

"It is chess," he said. "Every side is the attacker. You say you know this game?"

"Yes, I know this game," she said, rolling her eyes. "I have even won. But I've never played someone so comfortable with the game before. You play a proper game of chess, I suppose."

"So you are now visiting Russia with dreams of learning how to play properly?" Ivan said, looking down and resetting the board.

"No, I'm in Russia on fellowship," she grumbled, watching the pieces move into place and already dreading her future defeat. "I'm studying Russian literature."

Ivan glanced up from the board, his eyes flickering. He dropped the piece he was holding into place.

"Really?" he said. "You are a, ah, the degree…"

"Doctoral candidate," Emma said, looking up at him. "Russian and Asian Literature. Though, you know, 'Asian Literature' is a misnomer, since my program only spans whatareyoudoing?"

Ivan was leaning ever closer to her as she spoke, his great bulk looming over her. She leaned away from him and held out a hand to prevent his advance. He looked down at her hand.

"Ah! Sorry," he said, backing away. "I was overexcited. I meet few people who enjoy Russian literature! Especially one whose Russian is poor!"

Emma cracked a grin. She lifted her hands and waved them around her head.

"You live in Moscow," she said. "At this moment, you're literally blocks from MSU! You can't find someone who's read some Pushkin or Dostoevsky?"

Ivan's smile never left his lips, but his eyes flashed.

"Let us say that I have trouble making acquaintances."

"You mean friends?"

"This as well." His smile drooped a little.

Emma laughed.

"Well, I am an acquaintance and I like Russian lit so much I chose to live in poverty the rest of my days to study it. Also, I can read and write Russian just fine, even if I'm not so great at speaking it. So there," Emma said, pulling her legs up on the bench and crossing them, fluffing her skirt over her knees. "I'll be happy to discuss the masters with you sometime." She fluffed her curls a bit. "But now you have me at a disadvantage again. You know more about me than I about you."

"Me? Ah." Ivan looked up at the cloudless sky. "I am…in the government."

"Really? What do you do?"

Ivan smiled.

"A little of everything," he said. "International. Internal." He looked at her. "Civilian. Military."

Emma furrowed her brows, confused.

"I don't get it. Are you like a – a clerk? A secretary?"

Ivan shrugged.

"I am everything they need me to be."

"But –"

The church bell chimed one o' clock.

"Ah." Ivan tilted his head then packed up his pieces. "Back to work. But I will see you again, new acquaintance? Tomorrow?" He held out his hand. Emma took it and shook it vigorously.

"I'll be here with bells on," she said with a smile. "New acquaintance!"

* * *

><p>In a small apartment, old, sparse, but clean, a girl who appeared to be in her mid teens sat at a small wooden table, shuffling cards. Her long, straight black hair flowed down her back, stopping at her waste. Her moon-shaped face was clear, save for the dark smudges under her black eyes. She dealt her cards for a solitary game, and began to play. From time to time she sipped from a small porcelain cup of Turkish coffee sitting on a saucer to her right.<p>

"I see that you still haven't learned how to knock," she said, not looking up from her game as another joined her at the table.

"It is my home,"Russia replied. "Knocking is unnecessary."

"That isn't the point." The girl slammed a queen on a jack and glared at Russia. "It's common courtesy, you oaf!"

Russia smiled, his cheeks tinged with red.

"I am pleased to see you as well, Chechnya."

Chechnya scowled and continued with her game.

'What do you want, Russia?"

"You are not wearing your headscarf," Russia said, deflecting her question. He moved a hand toward her hair, but a quick glance from Chechnya made him drop it in his lap. "I rarely see you without it. Not since –"

"It's for moral support," she muttered, cutting him off. "And stop avoiding the question. Why are you here?"

The red tinge cleared from Russia's cheeks and he shrugged.

"Moral support," he said.

She paused, setting down her cards carefully.

"Reinforcements for the police?" she said. "And the funding for infrastructure has passed through the Duma?"Russia nodded again. Relief washed over Chechnya, and she relaxed into her chair with a satisfied smirk. "Finally."

Russia beamed at her. She scowled and picked up her cards.

"I'm not an idiot, Russia," she said, clenching her teeth. "You may play the role of the benevolent overlord, but I know that your true self is still lurking somewhere under the surface!"

Russia's face fell a bit, but his smile remained. He sat up a little straighter.

"Because of these recent actions on the part of Russia for you, our fair Chechen Republic, I'm sure you'll do your best to keep our people calm when the Ground Forces are moved through the territory," he said, his voice level.

"Ah, there is the catch!" She grinned in triumph as she moved cards around in her hand. "And just who are those Ground Forces for, hmm? 'Moral support'?"

Russia shrugged and lifted himself from the table.

"It does not matter," he said, shoving his hands into the pockets of his long, black duster. "But keep calm. For your – for our sake. Da Svydanya, Chechnya."

"You really want to go after those kids, don't you?"Chechnya's voice was flat. Monotone. "Bring them to heel?"

Russia paused. His face went blank.

"Does it matter, what I want?" He said finally, with a smile and a shrug.


	3. Chapter 3

She stood like a rock, swinging back her long, dark, blue tipped hair and placing her hands on her hips.

"No excuses," said Lyudmila, giving Emma a mock frown. "You n' me n' Kolya n' Tolya are going to lunch right now! I'm hungry, you're hungry, and we will become not hungry together!"

Emma rolled her eyes as she bustled around the small apartment, gathering books into her satchel, picking up a pick comb and giving her hair a quick grooming, shoving her feet into her shoes.

"I have told you this thing already, Mila," she said, stumbling a bit over her words in her annoyance. "I am meeting Ivan with park in a quarter hour."

Mila cocked her head at Emma, looking at the girl's beat-up black boots, jeans and dark green hoodie.

"You're going to meet the crush like this?" she said, waving her hand in disgust.

"Yes, like this," Emma grumbled, throwing on a jacket and picking up her satchel. "I get the impression that he is not interested in me. Just interested in chess."

Lyudmila lifted a brow.

"Then why see this man? You can play chess with anyone." She blocked Emma's path to the door. "Specifically, me or Mikhail." She paused, thinking. "Not Anatoly. He's cute, but he's an idiot."

"Because I think he's interesting," Emma said. She feinted to the left, and then quickly stepped around Mila as the petite woman followed the ruse.

"Well if he's THAT interesting, then I have to meet him," Lyudmila said with finality. She grabbed her jacket from its hook and took Emma's arm in hers. "If you keep going back to the park after three weeks of chess and no promise of make-outs, he must be the most interesting man in Russia!"

* * *

><p>Russia strolled down the corridors of the State Duma building, hands in the pockets of his tan slacks. He hummed as he walked; a quick, jaunty version of Poljushko Polje. Estonia, Latvia and Belarus followed in his wake, walking quickly to keep up.<p>

"We are not finished, Russia! "Estonia snapped, huffing a bit. "You think we are blind? Everyone knows you're building up your army near your borders!"

"It is suspicious," Latvia said, hesitantly. "I mean, after so many years, to move your army –"

"As I told you in the conference, it is just normal practice procedures," Russia said, not looking behind him. "You worry too much."

He stopped suddenly in front of an office. Estonia stopped short to avoid running into the tall man, which caused Latvia to lose his balance and fall into Estonia. Estonia pushed him off with a grunted "Watch where you're going!" Belarus shook her head in disgust, then turned her large, limpid eyes to Russia and clenched her hands.

"Are you positive of that, big brother?" she said, her voice dripping with desire. "Are you positive that you are not readying yourself to take us all back into your strong, muscle-y arms?"

Russia cringed, folding his head toward his body.

"I am positive," he said with teeth clenched, still not looking at the nations surrounding him. He opened the door, grabbed a white hooded jacket from its hook on the inside of the door. He threw the jacket on as he closed the door and kept walking, all in one fluid motion.

"Just where are you going?"Estonia called.

"I have a previous engagement," Russia said, walking a little faster. "We will finish this discussion later."

"Previous -! We will be finished when I am finished!" Estonia grabbed Latvia's arm and followed after Russia, dragging the smaller state behind him.

"Big brother, wait for me!" Belarus said, running up to Russia and hanging on to his arm, hopping along to match his step. Russia furrowed his brow but kept walking, his hum becoming grimmer with each step.

* * *

><p>"And so I said to him, you must be joking! I'm not some house frau," Lyudmila said, waving a free arm in disgust, her left caught up in Emma's. "Really, men today are so chauvinist! My mother, even my grandmother would never think of staying home! But here is Andrei, a man whom I think I love, telling me that he wants to "pamper" me! And what shall I do with my chemical engineering degree, hmmm? Burn it?"<p>

Emma stifled a roll of her eyes, having heard this story more than once. She spied Ivan at the entrance of the park and sighed with relief.

"Look, there he is," she said, lifting her hand to wave. She paused when she noticed the group of people around him, chattering at him as he walked toward his normal spot amongst the old men. "Huh. I have not seen him with people before. He is always alone…"

"I have no idea who you're looking at," Lyudmila cut in, standing on her tip-toes and looking around the park. "A tall blond man, you say?"

"Dark blonde," Emma confirmed, cocking an eyebrow at her diminutive friend. She pointed at Ivan and his entourage. "How can you miss him? He is so very tall!"

Lyudmila shook her head.

"No…I don't know which man."

Emma snorted impatiently and dragged her friend toward the benches, pointing at Ivan the entire way.

"The very tall. Blonde. Man. Right. There!"

"Either I am blind, or –" Lyudmila's eyes finally landed on Ivan. Her mouth hung open and her limbs went slack. "My god. THAT is Ivan?" she squeaked, bringing her hands to her mouth.

"I…yes, that's…"

"He is GORGEOUS!" Lyudmila broke away from Emma and ran the rest of the way to Ivan's group.

"Wait, what?" Emma sputtered as she ran after her.

* * *

><p>"I do not wish to talk about this now," Russia said firmly, shaking off Belarus. He sat on his usual bench and dug his chess box out of his jacket. "I am here to meet a friend." He finally looked at Estonia, his smile small, his eyes flashing. "Leave me alone. We will talk later."<p>

"What friend is this?"Belarus muttered, eyes narrowing.

"We will talk now, Russia," Estonia said, crossing his arms. "You cannot boss us around anymore. Isn't that right, Latvia?"

"W-well, yes, of course," Latvia said.

"What friend is this?"Belarus said a little louder.

"I am not bossing," Russia said, brows lowering. "I am being Polite. Please. Leave."

"It's YOUUUUU!"

Russia looked past Estonia. His face fell.

"Oh, no."

Lyudmila ran past the standing nations and tackled Russia with a squeezing hug.

"Oh my GOODNESS I never thought I would meet you in PERSON!" Lyudmila jabbered as she covered Russia's face with kisses.

Belarus clenched her fists.

"THIS is the friend you are meeting?" she snarled, grabbing Lyudmila's arm and yanking her off Russia.

"Let go of me, you hussy!" Lyudmila snapped, pushing Belarus away.

"Hussy? HUSSY? How dare you, you tacky tramp!"

"Of course," Estonia sneered. "You meet adoring citizens in the park. So very like you, Russia."

Emma finally caught up, breathing in deeply.

"Lyudmila, what on earth –"

Lyudmila shoved Belarus.

"No one calls me tramp, you whore!"

Belarus launched herself at Lyudmila, fingers clawed, ready to scratch out the young woman's eyes. Quickly Russia stood, caught Bela mid-jump, and held on to her as she waved her arms at Lyudmila.

"That's right!" Lyudmila said, swinging an open palm at Belarus's face. Emma caught her friend's arm before the blow landed.

"What the hell is going on?" she said, falling into English without thinking. Lyudmila struggled in her grip, and she hugged her friend close. She looked at Estonia and Latvia. "Who are you people?"

"Colleagues of Russia's,"Estonia answered in English with a smirk. "Teil on õigus, Venemaa. Sa oled liiga hõivatud oma tüdrukute rääkida nüüd. Läki, Läti."* Estonia turned and walked off. Latvia looked from Russia, still struggling with Belarus, to Emma holding on to Lyudmila, to the retreating Estonia.

"Konflikts vienmēr seko jums, Krievija,"** he sighed before running off after Estonia.

Russia set his jaw.

"Please go home," he said, his voice hollow. Lyudmila went slack in Emma's arms, her face blanking.

"Yes, okay. Home," she said with a monotone, pushing Emma away gently and wandering off.

"You too," Russia said to the struggling Belarus.

"Brat, ja zastanusia z taboj zaŭsiody!"*** she cried.

"No you won't."Russia set the scowling girl down. "Go home."

Belarus kicked at the ground and stormed off.

Russia watched her go, then straightened his jacket and smiled at Emma.

"So. Chess?"

There was a pause.

"What?" Emma threw up her hands. "Was THAT?" her arms whipped at the four retreating figures. "Who WERE they? What the HELL were they saying? What the HELL just happened? And WHAT?" she jabbed a finger at Lyudmila, still wandering off as if dazed. "WHAT? Did you do to HER?"

Russia blinked.

"I am not sure what you mean," he said, cocking his head.

"Bullshit!" Emma snapped. "Your 'work colleague,'" she exaggerated quote fingers above her head, "and oh YES, I am putting quotes around that phrase, almost beat the shit out of my friend!"

"My sister is an enthusiastic –"

"And I am PRETTY SURE specs insulted me! He did, didn't he with his smug face all triumphant and, and, SMUG!"

"He does enjoy having me in the pinch, though I do not blame –"

"And what did you do to Mila's brain? She looks completely out of her head and THAT CRAZY WOMAN IS YOUR SISTER?"

Russia opened his mouth to speak, paused, then closed his mouth and smiled at Emma.

"Yes. That crazy woman is my sister," he said, his eyes dancing.

Emma took a deep, gasping breath and sat down on the bench. She crossed her arms and waited. Russia shoved his hands in his pockets and looked up at the sky.

"Her name is, ah, Natalia," he said. "And the other two are indeed work colleagues. We, all of us, have a, shall we say, history."

"And Lyudmila?"

Russia looked down at her, shrugged and smiled.

"I asked her to go home."

Emma narrowed her eyes, staring at his pleasant look, then looked down, shaking her head. She shivered a bit as a cool, late September breeze swept through her curls.

"It is too chilly to play chess here," Russia said, holding out his hand. "Perhaps we should go have tea?"

Emma looked up and snorted, lifting a brow.

"Tea nothing," she said, taking Russia's hand and jumping to her feet. "You owe me a glass of vodka!"

She grabbed Russia's chess box from the bench. They walked out of the park and onto the busy street, silent but for Russia's humming. The current of people on the sidewalk seemed to split purposefully around Russia, though the faces of the people were blank, no single person registering the alteration of their path. Emma, lost in thought, did not notice. She mulled for a bit, glancing up at Russia from time to time.

"You know, my family's pretty crazy," she finally finally blurted. Russia stopped humming and looked down at her.

"Oh?"

"Yeah." Emma shrugged. "I mean, I won't go into it, it's pretty standard stuff. Boring stuff."

"Crazy but boring?" Russia said with a smile.

"Well. You know, alcoholic dad that left, mum who's got her head in the clouds, stuff like that," Emma said, ducking her head. "The standard problems. Nothing exciting."

"My sister wants to marry me," Russia said cheerfully. His face filled with horror for a split second, and he shuddered. Then he continued on his way as if nothing happened. Emma's jaw dropped.

"Yikes," she said, shaking her head.

"Yes."

Emma's lips wobbled. She cracked a grin and giggled. The giggles grew into great guffaws. Russia stopped walking. The crowd surged around them.

"What is so funny?"

"I…I…" Emma wheezed. "I don't know! It's all just…just…so silly!"

She doubled over in laughter. Russia's small smile grew. He crouched down to Emma's level, watching her. Emma threw out a hand and steadied herself on Russia's shoulder. Her laughter quieted down to a few snorted giggles and hiccups. She took a deep breath and sighed, smiling back at Russia. He stood and offered his arm to her.

"And now the drink?" he said.

"Sound's lovely," she replied, putting her arm through his and walking off at his jaunty step.

* * *

><p>Translations!<p>

*You are correct, Russia. You are too busy with your girls to talk now. Let us go, Latvia.

**Conflict always follows you, Russia

***Brother, I will stay with you always!


	4. Chapter 4

The halls were bustling at the Offices of the Duma. Russia hummed under his breath as he strolled past the legislators' offices, people avoiding him without a second glance. Four times he stopped in front of an office, popped his head in, rummaged in his coat and pulled out a small, stapped two-way radio. The owners of each of the offices took no notice as Russia hung the two-way radio on the offices' coat racks next to heavy autumn jackets, and then wandered off still humming his tune.

* * *

><p>"We are in agreement, then." Russia's boss looked at each man and woman sitting in the small conference room; officers of the army, members of the Duma, the Prime Minister. "We shall bring Russia back to its former glory!"<p>

"I support you, of course, President," a general said gruffly. "And the armed forces shall support you as well." He leaned back in his chair. "However, there are younger officers, those who came of age in the 90s…I fear they will rebel unless I have your absolute certainty that this is what Russia wants."

"I assure you, General, Russia wants nothing more than the stability we once had." The boss smiled and folded his thin hands together. "And those who truly prefer this current Russia will be brought over to our side by the unification of all Russians. Those who were once lost shall be found again."

The general and the boss locked eyes for a moment. The general nodded smartly.

"Very well, then."

The boss stood, and his partners stood with him.

"We have almost reached the peak, my friends," the boss said. "I will contact you soon."

The partners left the room silently, not looking at one another. The boss watched them leave with his tight smile.

"I do not feel so unstable," Russia said from the corner he sat in while the meeting was in progress. He stood with hands in his pockets. "A little money worries is not so bad."

"You would say that," the boss said absently, stacking papers. "You have no perspective."

Russia's eyebrows rose. He smiled.

"That is why you are such a good leader," he said. "You always know my faults."

"Don't joke!" the boss snapped. "We are close to bringing you back to Glory, Russia. We shall be an empire again!"

"Something to celebrate," Russia said, eyes flashing.

"It is," the boss said, narrowing his eyes and thumping the table lightly with his fist. "You should be proud!"

"I am always proud." Russia shrugged and walked toward the door, hands still in his pockets.

"I expect no interference from you!"

"Of course not," Russia said, still walking.

"And no distractions either, like that…that little girl you've been seeing."

Russia paused at the door. His teeth clenched beneath his smile.

"Girl?" he asked, cocking his head.

"Yes, that little foreign girl," the boss continued as he threw the papers in his briefcase and snapped it shut. His annoyance seeped into every word. "Don't deny it, I've already run a check and surveillance."

"Ah! Spying on me! That takes me back –"

"I don't care what you do for recreation," the boss said, sliding past Russia out the door. "Just see that it does not distract from your duties."

Russia's cheeks colored.

"Duty is always first," he said.

"Good." The boss walked off quickly, his pace level, his moves efficient. Russia narrowed his eyes at the boss's back. He pulled a two-way radio out of his pocket, turned it off, and then stuffed it back in the pocket.

"Always first," he muttered.

* * *

><p>The streets were filled with midday traffic, sidewalks bustling with people. Russia walked easily through the crowd, looking over the heads of the pedestrians. He was focused on the lingerers; the window shoppers, those that stopped to tie their shoes, the man with crutches, holding his hand out to the passing people. At last he spotted his prey leaning against a wall next to the large windows of a grocery store. The man on the wall puffed on a cigarette, his face a mask of boredom. Russia sidled up to him and placed a hand on his shoulder. The man started.<p>

"Hey, what's –" he looked up. His face filled with joy. "Oh -!"

"Yes," Russia said simply. "Perhaps it is time to go?"

"But I have to watch –"

"Unnecessary," Russia said, removing his hand. The man nodded and wandered off in a stupor. Russia watched him go with a satisfied smile.

"Ivan!" He swung his head around. Emma was walking toward him, bags dripping off her arms, beaming.

"Oh…"

"What an odd coincidence!" she said, leaning on the wall her stalker had just occupied. "I didn't think I'd see you 'til tomorrow, you know, at the tea room." She let her arms sag. "But I saw a couple things at the store that reminded me of you so I – oh, am I interrupting something?" She cocked her head. "You look like you're somewhere else right now."

"No," Russia said. He stared at her unflinching for a second before reaching down and untangling most of the bags from her arms. "Your wrists are red," he said lifting the bags into his hands.

"Yeah, I guess I bought out the store." She let the bags slip from her grip and rocked back as her body was freed from its burden. Her cheeks reddened a bit. "Well. Um. Do you. Want to follow me home then?"

"That would make the most sense," Russia said with a smile.

* * *

><p>"Lyudmila!" Emma called as she unlocked the door. She pushed it open, removed her cap and fluffed up her hair, kicked off her shoes, tossed her heavy jacket on the coat hook by the door. "Mila! Mil – no, I don't think she's here."<p>

She paused, blushing again, and ushered Russia through the door. He leaned under the doorframe and plodded to the kitchen table, plunking the bags down upon it. He shook out his hands a bit, and looked at Emma, smiling.

"Well!" Emma said, a little too loudly. She cringed as she slammed the door behind her. "Um. You should have tea!"

"Oh, I do not –"

"Tea it is!" Emma grabbed the electric kettle and filled it, slammed it down on its base and flicked it on. As she rummaged through the cabinets for a couple of mugs, Russia shuffed off his coat, placed it on a kitchen chair and walked around the tiny living space; brushed a hand over the old stuffed sofa; squatted in front of the tiny TV and read the titles of the DVDs; stood and leaned over a bookcase, pulling a finger across the varied spines of the novels.

"Too much Dostoevsky," he said. "War and Peace, but no Anna Karenina. And where is Gogol?"

"Oh, we are not having THAT argument again," Emma griped as she spooned tea into an infuser and tossed it in her ceramic tea pot. The kettle popped, and she quickly poured the nearly boiling water over the tea. "You and your 19th century masters!"

Russia shook his head, pulling out a copy of The Idiot.

"I simply do not understand your love of him," he said, flipping through the pages. "Dostoevsky would have been nothing if not for his wife and his crushing debt. Gogol -"

"Gogol was a crazed ascetic, and Tolstoy was an upper-class snob," Emma said, pouring tea into the mugs. She walked to Russia and placed his tea on the open book, nose in the air in mock superiority. "Dostoevsky was the working man's novelist! Not to mention entirely sexy."

Russia raised a brow as he took his mug and replaced the book on the shelf.

"He was bald."

"A common affliction," Emma quickly countered.

"And consumptive."

"A minor issue."

"That killed him."

"Well." Emma shrugged, placed her tea on the table and began unpacking her groceries. "I still say that Crime and Punishment is better than anything that Tolstoy ever wrote and YES I am including War and Peace DON'T look at me like that, I am allowed my opinion."

"True," Russia said, hovering over the table, watching as she swiftly removed cans and boxes from bags, lined them up on the table and placed them at their predesignated locations in cabinets around the kitchen. "But you are not entitled to accuracy. Do you want help?"

"No, no, I am almost done," Emma said, rolling her eyes as she unpacked the last of her groceries - a brown baggie that held two pirozhki, and a large bottle of tarhun.

"Lucky that I got two!" Emma said, holding the bag out to Russia. He hesitated, then picked out a meat pie. Emma gave him a smile, quickly grabbed two glasses from a cabinet, poured some of the bright green, carbonated liquid into both, slid a glass across the table and sat. Again Russia hesitated before pulling out a chair and joining Emma. He sipped at his tea, paused, then sipped at the tarhun, eyeing the pie.

"Are you alright, Ivan?" Emma said. She took a bite and cheerfully continued, "I've seen 'oo wolf down tree o' those in one go!"

"You have told me before that you are studying in Moscow only until summer," Russia said, picking up the pie.

Emma swallowed, then swallowed again.

"Yes, that's true," she said, glancing at him. "The program lasts a year, that's it."

"And then you have one more year of studies before you graduate?" Russia bit into his pie, bit again, and swallowed. Emma's knees shook a little.

"Yep, one more year 'til I'm free! Well, free to flounder for a job, heh."

"You'll be a professor," he said, raising his brows. Russia finished off the pie in two more bites and gulped his tea. Emma sipped nervously at her tarhun.

"Yeah, that's the hope," she said.

"I wonder." Russia looked up at the ceiling. "I wonder if a university here will take you."

Emma turned a bright red.

"Oh! Well, that would - I mean, maybe - "

"Just a thought," Russia said, placing his mug on the table.

"Well, it would be nice I suppose," Emma stammered. "Just…so very far away from home…"

"But you love Russia, yes? Enough to, what did you say…live in poverty forever?"

"Russian literature," Emma said, fiddling with her bun. "I love Russian literature. Russia…well, it's strange to LOVE a country, isn't it?"

Russia shot her a sharp look.

"What, you do not love your own nation?"

"I dunno," Emma shrugged. "I mean, Australia… there have been so many mistakes. BAD ones, you know. How can you love something that has done such horrible things?"

"You love your mother," Russia said, leaning toward her. "And yet, she is not perfect."

"My mother never attempted to deny an entire culture's right to exist," Emma intoned with a flat look.

"Well then, that shall make it easier if a Russian university asks you to join them!" Russia said with a nod and a smile.

"I suppose, but…" Emma sagged a little. "I'd miss home very, very much."

"Ah, so you DO love Australia," Russia said. "So much that you cannot leave him."

"Him?"

"There. Not for long." He drummed on the table. "You, Emma, can love a nation. And if you love one, you can love another."

"Listen, Russia is great," Emma said quickly. "There are bits and pieces I really, really like. The literature, obviously. The food, even though it's a bit bland and so much garlic! The people, the culture…the movies, the humor…"

"That IS Russia," he said, cocking his head. "What else is there?"

Emma frowned.

"The history. The corruption."

"Ah. Ah, yes." Russia's smile sagged a little. He stared into his tarhun. "That is a problem."

They were quiet a moment.

"But…" Emma hesitated, then barreled on. "But all the good stuff is so very good. And I know I will miss it when I'm gone. So maybe…" her blush returned. "Maybe I'm falling in love and I just don't know it. And, and, maybe if you've found that you Lo - Like ME, you should just say so rather than framing so strangely. Because I've thought you were nice since I saw you sitting alone in the park two months ago."

She finished off the tarhun in one go and slammed her glass on the table.

Russia leaned back in his chair, eyes wide. He looked up, as if deep in thought.

"I am unsure if I can say I Lo - Like you," he said smoothly. "I admit, I do enjoy your company. And your humor, that is quite good. Your temper annoys me and your Russian is better but still unpleasant. Your chess is much improved. You will forever be wrong about Gogol." he leaned forward and tapped his mug. "You prepare tea well. Yet I am still unsure." He smiled. "Perhaps I am falling in lo - like, and I simply do not realize it."

Emma was shaking, her face still beet red.

"Is that so?" she said, lifting her chin.

"Yes," he said, leaning further towards her. His violet eyes filled her vision completely.

"Um." she whispered. "Um. Would you like to play chess?"

"No."

He pulled her chair towards him and kissed her.


	5. Chapter 5

"I'm not sure why every member of the European Union has to be present at these meetings," China said, head propped on his hand. "I feel, shall we say, outnumbered."

The member nations of the EU loudly defended themselves, each one speaking over the other.

"They are major contributors to the world's economy," Germany said, crossing his arms and narrowing his eyes.

"Not as individuals," China said with a smile.

"Heeey, that's a good point!" America said, leaning back in his chair and rubbing his chin. "Not that China's right about anything or like, a person you'd want to get a real opinion from or anything and stuff. Cause he isn't. Just, you know, that's a whole lotta Europe there! Like, I should get to bring some states in or something to REALLY represent North America! Totally bring in Texas...maybe set off some fireworks..."

"Hey!" Canada whispered. "You -"

"I think North America is plenty represented," England cut in, rolling his eyes. "You are certainly loud enough for a whole continent!"

"Well," Canada whispered. "I -"

"But that doesn't mean that you guys should have every seat in the room!" America said. "It's like, totally unfair!"

"Agreed," China said. "I am simply saying that four Asian nations is hardly representative of our part of the world."

"Five if you count Russia," England grumbled.

"Russia an Asian nation?" Japan spoke up in his calm, level voice. "That is hardly the case. He is obviously European."

"But he takes up like, half of Asia!" America said. "Like, all of it is totally a snowy wasteland of boring doom and stuff, but still! Right, Russia?"

The whole group looked at Russia, who was staring off into space.

"Right Russia?" America repeated. Russia shook himself, and his eyes focused.

"Hmmm?"

"You're mostly Asian, right?"

Russia cocked his head and looked around the room.

"...I...what?"

Each of the nations traded glances between each other.

"I said -" America began.

"We are wasting time!" Germany snapped, pounding a fist on the table. "We are here to discuss economic policy!"

"I...motion for recess," Russia said slowly.

Greece snuffled, shaken awake by the motion.

"I second it!" he said quickly.

"I -!" Germany paused and glanced around the room at the pleading eyes of various nations. "Fine!" he grumbled.

There was a general scraping of chairs as many of the nations left the room, Russia among them.

"What is wrong with that guy lately," Germany muttered, watching Russia's retreat. "He's always weird, but he's been extra weird the last few months."

As Estonia and Latvia passed Germany's chair, Estonia heard Germany's mutterings. Estonia stopped and smirked.

"Probably just thinking about one of his girls," he said, rolling his eyes.

China, still seated, looked up.

"What do you mean, one of his...girls?"

"I saw him cavorting with his people," Estonia said with a tinge of disgust. "Lapping up the adoration, that sort of thing. Not even trying to be discreet about it, just letting them hang off him. Russian girls, humph."

"That's not quite true," Latvia spoke up. "Only one was Russian. The other spoke English."

"English?" America and England popped up in their seats at the same time. They narrowed their eyes at each other.

"Yes. Like him," Latvia said, pointing at a young man chatting with South Korea at the rear of the room. He had sandy brown hair, green eyes, and wore a set of rough and tumble khakis.

"Oh," America said, leaning back in his chair, suddenly bored.

"What kind of business would Russia have with some random Australian girl?" England murmured, furrowing his sizable brow.

France, listening into this conversation the entire time, leaned over England's chair and threw his arms about England's neck.

"You say it as if it is a bad thing for a man to woo a woman," France said. "What other reason can there be but love?"

"Get off of me!" England shoved France's arms off his shoulders. "I'm just saying it's strange, is all."

"No stranger than France's hundreds of dalliances," Germany muttered.

"Thousands," France corrected, holding out a single finger.

"Whatever," Germany said, shaking his head. "I'm getting lunch."

"Ooh, and coffee!" France said, linking arms with a disgruntled Germany as they left the room.

"Lunch is always good," China said, pushing away from the table and standing. "If you all will kindly excuse me."

He left the room, walking quickly from the groups of nations chatting to each other. He took a cell from his pocket, glancing around as he pulled up a number.

"Lan? Yes, it has been many years. Of course I do. Lan, be quiet for just a moment. There is someone I wish you to keep an eye on..."


	6. Chapter 6

Emma's books were spread across the kitchen table, each one flagged multiple times with little sticky markers. She gripped a highlighter between her teeth and pulled at her curls, a heavily marked book open before her. Lyudmila sat across from her, reading with a calm expression. The apartment was silent, but for a slow drip from the sink and the distant rush of traffic outside.

The phone rang. Emma jumped, jarring her book and sending it to the floor. She reached for it as Lyudmila smoothly reached over to the receiver on the nearby kitchen counter.

"Halo?" she paused. "OH, HALO MISSUS GAVERTY!" she said with loud precision. "YES SHE IS HERE! I WILL GIVE HER THE TELEPHONE NOW!" She passed the phone across the table. Emma shot her a sardonic look.

"Was that necessary?" she said.

Lyudmila shrugged, smiled and went back to her book. Emma sighed, smiled brightly, and placed the receiver against her ear.

"Hallo, Mum!" she said brightly. "No, everything is fantastic here, just getting along -" her face fell. "Aw, mum, I'm writing a major paper right now - I know but -" she clenched her teeth. "I can do that any old day, but not today mum, please...well, maybe Mrs. Jenners isn't the BEST person to compete against - no I'm not being tetchy! Mum!" Emma sighed and rolled her eyes. "Fine. It'll be a few hours, though - fine, yes, I can get them to you before 6 'o' clock your time. Uh huh, yes, you, too."

Emma turned off the phone and handed it back to Mila as she stood.

"Where are you going?" Mila said, placing the phone on its cradle.

"The Red Square," Emma called from her bedroom. She came out carrying her camera, and shoved her feet in her flats. "My mother insists on photos of the square to show at her garden party tonight."

"And you're going to go out and do it?" Mila said, motioning to Emma's stack. "Really? Right now?"

"If I don't I'll never hear the end of it," Emma said, throwing her coat about her shoulders. "You want to join me?"

Lyudmila snorted.

"I'm not going traipsing about the Square like some tourist," she grumbled.

"Just me then," Emma said, pulling her hat on and opening the door. "I'll be back."

* * *

><p>Russia smiled at the countries gathered in his office.<p>

"I do not understand why this meeting is necessary," he said with a shrug. "I told you, we were simply running military exercises for a few months. The exercises are long over, and the troops have retreated from the border. What is there to worry about?"

Germany crossed his arms over his chest and narrowed his eyes.

"Your border nations felt threatened!" He snapped. "Why practice such maneuvers at all?"

"It was recommended by the Generals," Russia said blandly. "Something to keep the soldiers busy."

"You are a liar, Russia!" Estonia said, pounding his fist on the table. "Tell him, Latvia!"

"W-well, you did get awfully close..." Latvia said.

"Woahwoahwoahwoah wait!" America stood up, waving his hands. "I mean, like, you just move your army guys around for funtimes? I don't buy it!"

"It is much simpler than going to war to keep them occupied." Russia smiled, his eyes flashing. "You should try it some time."

"Hey, you -!"

"We are loosing the focus of the conversation!" Germany barked. "As moderator for the EU -"

"Yes, how dare you threaten member states of the EU!" Estonia said, shaking his fist. "You have no right! Tell him, Latvia!"

"Y-yes, no right," Latvia said, glancing between Estonia and Russia.

"You pick fights all the time!" America snapped. "Like, that's a totally unfair thing you said just now!"

"I am unsure why you are even here, America," Russia said, cocking his head.

"Whaddaya mean? These guys are my buddies!" America threw an arm around Estonia and Latvia and hugged them close.

"Yes, I see," Russia said. "Are you as close to them as you are to Georgia? She believed you were quite close as I recall..."

America squeezed the Baltic nations tighter.

"We are VERY close!" he barked.

"If we can just get to the heart of the issue we can move on - !" Germany began.

Russia's palms hit the table heavily, rattling the pictures on the wall. Every nation sputtered to a halt. Russia's smile never faltered.

"There is no issue," he said quietly. "You have been mistaken, and now you all waste my time. If you have any other questions, besides what I do with my own armed forces within my own borders, please speak."

The nations glared at Russia, but no one spoke.

"Very well. I bid you good day."

He stood, and ushered the nations out with an outstretched arm. Estonia glowered at him, and huffed away, Latvia tailing him. Germany stood slowly and shook his head.

"I don't like to think what you are planning, Russia," he muttered. "It gives me a headache."

America leaned over the table and pointed at Russia.

"I know you're up to something," he said, squinting at the tall man, his glasses drifting down his nose. "You just...stop it!"

Germany and America left, muttering between themselves. Russia listened to their retreat. His shoulders sagged. There was a click of a door behind him.

"So they all suspect." His boss circled the table, hands behind his back.

"As I told you they would, sir," Russia said, lifting his head.

"You are prepared for your trip?"

"Of course, sir."

"Good." His boss smiled. "Tell the lost Russians that we're coming for them."

* * *

><p>The domes of St. Basil's Cathedral zoomed in and out on Emma's view screen, the candy colors popping against the grey late November sky.<p>

"Does she want the street as well as the Church?" she muttered to herself. "Damn, I should have asked."

She zoomed out again, bringing the groups of people wandering about the square into view, then zoomed in on the stone wall surrounding the Cathedral. A group of arguing young men crossed her view screen. She paused and followed them with her camera.

"Hey, I know that guy!" she muttered to herself. "And that guy, too! That's the pair from the park! I wonder who the others are?"

She snapped a picture, then lifted her head and waved at the young men.

"Hey -!"

A very tall woman in a very large, white fur coat smashed into Emma, sending the dark curled girl flying. She held her camera close to her body as she landed on the stone pavement. A shower of photographs rained down around her.

"I am so terribly sorry!" The woman cried, pulling Emma up roughly by the arms and dusting her off. The woman dropped to her hands and knees and started scooping up photographs and tossing them into a large cardboard box.

"It's all right," Emma said in English, still rattled by her fall. She shook herself, then leaned over and picked up a few photographs.

"Nonononononono, it was absolutely rude of me," the woman said, also switching to a perfectly unaccented English. Her voice was high and sweet. She looked up at Emma and smiled, tossing another pile of photos in the box. Her almond eyes danced. The woman leapt up, grabbed the box and ran off, red heels clicking against stone.

Emma blinked, still a bit dazed. She stared at the photos without looking at them.

"Oh. Wait! Wait!" she cried, holding the photos above her head and waving them. The white furred woman did not look back, disappearing into the crowd.

"Damn!" Emma said, looking at the photographs once more. "What the hell do I do with these now? I..."

She trailed off as she realized what she was looking at. Three photographs, all in black and white, of various groups of young men. She checked the back of the photos. Many languages written in a small, tight hand filled the white space, including English and Russian.

"Allies Meet, Tehran, 1943," she muttered. "Germany Surrenders, Berlin, 1945. U.N., 1945. Huh."

She turned the photos over and immediately recognized the young man in the center of the second photograph.

"Waitaminute," she said, scrolling through her camera and stopping on the picture she just snapped. A blue eyed, blond man, frowning down at a sandy-haired guy with glasses and a large, open mouth, both of them trailing behind the short kid and the spiky-haired man with specs she saw at the park months before.

"Waitaminute!" She said, her voice lifting as she looked from the photo to her camera view screen, comparing the blond to the central man in the photograph who frowned as he signed a large piece of parchment. She looked up towards the Cathedral, but the group of young men were long gone. She flipped through the photos, glancing from the large-mouthed man on the camera to the man with glasses in the Tehran picture. Her eyes flicked between him, a serious young man with large brows, and a tall fellow decked out in an old Soviet uniform. Emma's eyes stopped on the Soviet. Her breath quickened.

"Waitaminute!" She squeaked. She flipped to the picture of the U.N. People filled the frame, but she found the Soviet, smiling lightly to the camera. Her hands shook. She stuffed her camera and the photos in her pocket, eyes wide and blinking, cemented to the ground. Her cell jangled, snapping her out of her shock.

"Yes?" she said breathlessly, answering it without looking at the caller. "Oh! Ivan, yes, I - I can still do dinner tonight. Sure! Seven it is, yes, I - okay, I'll see you then!"

She pressed end and stared at the phone.

"It's all perfectly logical," she said, shaking her head. "I mean, it's not as if every human face must be original, right? Who's to say some guy sixty or so years ago wouldn't resemble a fellow waltzing about now? Or..." she shook just a little. "Or even three guys? Perfectly logical."

* * *

><p><p>

The day crawled by. Emma uploaded her pictures and sent them off to her mother, then attempted to settle down to studying once more. But the photographs would not leave her. She pulled them from her coat pocket and spread them across her books, staring at them.

"What do you have there?" Lyudmila asked, looking up from her book.

"What? Oh, nothing," Emma said, picking up the photo of the Allies and passing it to Mila. "A woman dropped these on the square. I just find them odd."

"Odd?" Mila studied the photograph. "What do you mean?"

"Well...look at the man, the Soviet man, see him?" Emma said, tapping a finger on the table. "Does he not look like Ivan?"

Lyudmila furrowed her brow and shook her head.

"How should I know?" she said, looking up and handing the picture back. "I've never met him, of course."

"Never - ! Mila, you attacked his sister!"

"You keep saying this, and it annoys me," Mila snapped. She hunched over her books. "I would never attack a person."

"But - !"

Mila glared at Emma then hunched further over her her books.

"Leave me be."

Emma sat back in her chair, bemused. She looked down at the photo, frowned, and flipped it over in disgust.

By seven, she was determined to ask Ivan about the photo.

"He'll probably think I'm insane," she muttered as she swiped powder over her face in her room. She adjusted her black pencil skirt and fluffed her curls a bit. "You think all Russians look alike, he'll say. Probably laugh at me." She threw her coat about her shoulders at a knock at the door.

"Great, wonderful," she said after Ivan gave her a quick kiss. She grabbed his arm and tugged him down the stairs of the building. "I'm starving!"

At the restaurant she zoned out as he told an anecdote about a relative, someone important in the Napoleonic war stealing some general's hat. She slid her food around her plate. Ivan let his story peter out. He smiled and leaned towards Emma.

"Not such an interesting tale?" he said. She looked up with glazed eyes.

"Hmmm?"

"And you are not so hungry after all," he said, nodding to her plate.

"Oh." She looked down at the mess she made of her meal, and blushed. "Oh! I'm sorry. I suppose...my mind is elsewhere."

"Yes, I see." He nodded. "I know the feeling. Perhaps you are too deep in your studies at the moment?"

"Well, yes. Well, no! Really. Actually -" she laughed nervously. "Actually, it's the funniest thing! I found the most interesting photograph today!" she pulled her purse on her lap and rummaged through it as Ivan furrowed his brow.

"Photograph?"

"Yes!" Emma pulled out the Allies Meet, and held it out. "You wouldn't believe...I mean, such an old photo..."

Ivan did not take the photo.

"Where did you find it?" He said slowly, his smile never changing.

"I - well, on the square, actually." Emma pulled her arm in and looked at the Soviet man, then up at Ivan. Same nose. Same chin. Same constant smile... "A woman -"

"A woman?" Ivan leaned back in his chair. "That is interesting. I would not expect a woman."

There was a moment of silence. Emma narrowed her eyes slightly.

"A woman dropped them," Emma finished, her voice low.

There was another small silence. Ivan took a deep breath and placed his fork on his plate.

"Emma -"

"Yes?"

" - I have to go away for a little while." He took her free hand and rubbed it lightly with his thumb. "Just for a little while. On business."

"Oh." Emma dropped her hand with the photo in her lap. "Oh. Well. That's okay, I - I have so much to do for - Of course I will miss you, but - Ivan, what exactly DO you do?"

Ivan smiled and squeezed her hand then let her go.

"It will not be a pleasant trip," he said quietly, looking down at his plate. "But tonight I will be with you, and that pleases me. You are a pleasure, Emma."

He glanced up at her, is eyes shining a bit.

Emma relaxed. She gave him a half smile, stuffed the photo back in her purse and shoved the purse under her chair.

"Well, let's not think about tomorrow then," she said, shaking her curls back and taking a sip of wine. "And it's just some silly old photo. Come on, then! Tell me about that captured hat!"

She laughed and nodded in all the correct spots, but every bit of Emma was alert, watching Ivan as he spoke. She brushed her purse with the heel of her foot.


	7. Chapter 7

Estonia whistled as he chopped onions and tossed them into a large, simmering pot of broth and vegetables. He held his head over the soup and breathed in deeply.

"Carrots," he muttered. "Can't forget the carrots."

As he reached for the orange root there was a knock at the door of his small, cozy cottage. He set the knife on the cutting board and turned down the heat on his soup. The knock came again, louder and more forceful.

"Yes, yes, coming," Estonia grumbled, hurrying through his living room and opening the door. Russia filled his door frame. He smiled down at Estonia. Estonia gasped and attempted to slam the door. Russia stopped the door with one large hand.

"Hello, Estonia," he said cheerfully, pushing his way in.

"Y-you can't just come in here like this!" Estonia sputtered, blocking Russia's path. Russia kicked the door shut behind him then placed a hand on Estonia's shoulder and pushed him firmly back into his couch. Estonia groaned and covered his face with his hands.

"I knew it," he muttered. "I knew it was just a matter of time until you came for me! All those border disputes - "

"Mean nothing," Russia said, sitting heavily in a wooden chair across from Estonia. He clasped his hands together and leaned forward. "However, invasion IS coming, my friend."

Estonia moved his hands to his cheeks and narrowed his eyes.

"What do you mean "coming"? You are here, aren't you?"

Russia shook his head and smiled.

"Not officially."

There was a pause. Estonia slowly moved his hands to his knees, eyes still narrowed.

"I don't understand," he said finally.

"My boss has plans," Russia said calmly, voice level, face never changing. "Specifically, he plans on taking the contested Estonian land by force and claiming it as a refuge for the Russian population in Estonia. Which will then, of course, be under my jurisdiction, though they will not be fully Russian. Not at first, that is. In time the land will become properly Russian."

Estonia's eyes grew wide as Russia spoke. His mouth dropped.

"I - but - what?" he sputtered, rocking back into the couch.

"Everything I say is true," Russia said with a shrug. "Just today I visited Russian Estonians at my boss's request."

Estonia shook his head and pushed his glasses up his nose.

"And how did they respond?" he snapped.

"Some want this. Some do not." Russia rolled his eyes. "Such as it always is."

Estonia frowned and crossed his arms.

"Why would you give me this information? It goes completely against your needs!"

Russia cocked his head.

"Does it?"

Estonia stared at the large nation, chewing his bottom lip.

"Right," he said, gritting his teeth. "Right. When will this attack occur?"

* * *

><p>"They don't match!" Emma muttered in disgust, throwing her book on the living room floor. The book, <em>A History of the UN<em>, ruffled shut, adding to the pile scattered across the rug. Emma sat in the center of her pile, tugging at her curls. She picked up her black and white photo Labeled UN, 1945 and peered at the many, many young men and women sitting around a large board room, marked only by their country of origin.

"I can't find any of these people! If they were important enough to be at the formation of the UN, why the hell aren't they in any official photographs?"

She dropped the photo, and pulled another book, _The End of the End: World War II and the Nature of Surrender_, toward her. She opened a few tagged pages, but none matched the photo of the grumpy young blond signing his parchment.

"I just don't get it," Emma muttered. "Was it just a costume party or something? Some sort of reenactment?" She blushed, suddenly feeling very stupid as she paged through her book. "Of course that's what the photos are, Emma you idiot. Some sort of fun with cameras! Oh, and I bet Ivan was not really into it, the way he reacted. Or maybe -"

Emma paused as she looked over a photo of top tier members of the Third Reich waltzing across a crowded street, chatting. She squinted and breathed in quickly, reaching for a magnifying glass on the coffee table. She set it over the printed image. At the back of the group of the Nazi leaders, half of a face stared off to the side. A grumpy face with slicked-back hair. Emma placed the photo next to the print in the book.

"There you are!" she cried through a toothy smile. She placed the magnifying glass over the description. "Let's see; 'Pictured: Goring, Hess' yes, yes, yes - ah! 'Secretary Ludwig.' Ludwig, eh?"

She tapped her photo of the grumpy German.

"I've found you, Ludwig! HA!"

* * *

><p>Latvia paced the floor of his flat's kitchen, rubbing his hands together and shaking his head.<p>

"It just makes no sense!" he said, looking up at Russia, who leaned against the refrigerator. "I mean, what possible benefit could you have by taking some of my land now?"

"That is none of your concern, Latvia," Russia said with a shrug.

"But a multi-pronged attack?" Latvia threw his hands in the air and continued to pace. "I mean, come ON Russia! I am a member of the EU now! I have big friends! It's just...It's...I'm not saying your armed forces are anything to sneeze at but..."

Russia stepped in front of Latvia and crouched down to the smaller nation's level.

"It is none of your concern, Latvia," he said with a smile. "What is your concern is that soon, you will be invaded. I imagine there are things to do before this happens?"

Latvia took a deep breath and nodded.

* * *

><p>"Ah, the world continues to suck," Lyudmila said as images of protesters across Eastern Europe flickered on the television. The reporter spoke almost breathlessly of populist uprisings against oppression of ethnic Russians. "Can't have one day without strife, you know?"<p>

"Aha!" Emma cried happily from the kitchen table. Lyudmila looked back and watched as Emma carefully marked a book with a green post-it. "Another Alfred F. Jones! That American fellow gets around!"

"Darling, your obsession is getting creepy," Lyudmila deadpanned, looking back at the TV.

"It IS creepy!" Emma said, pulling another book towards her and flipping through the pages. "I've found at least five reoccurring characters so far, and each of them - listen to this, Mila - EACH of them show up in important photos as far back as photos of important things existed! I mean, look at this -" she opened to a page in her book labeled with a pink post it and tapped a picture. "Francis Bonnefoy, pictured with Napoleon III in 1866. And here he is again -" she dropped that book and held out another, flipping to a page. "In 1977, in Angola. It's the same man every time, I'm sure of it! Hair and face and smile never changes, just the clothes."

"Uh huh," Lyudmila said, flipping through the channels.

"I've found Arthur Kirkland in the 1850s," Emma said, tapping books filled with orange Post-its. "Ludwig is more difficult to find. Maybe he's more careful?" she continued, walking her finders over a couple of books with yellow post-its. "And Ivan...oh, Ivan, he's all over the place! Never shies away from a camera, that man." She cracked open a few books that were marked with blue post-its. "And the name listed for him! Ivan Braginski. I mean, that SOUNDS fake! Like someone with a fake ID in a country that doesn't speak Russian. Braginski! Puh."

She looked up from the books.

"And you want to know the weirdest thing? I KNOW I'm not the first to notice all this." She slapped a book pile. "I checked online, Mila. There are people who know this sort of thing! I see it in google searches! But every time, EVERY time I bookmark a page, pah! A few days later, it's gone! Like there's someone out there tracking these things and rubbing them out!"

Lyudmila sighed and looked back at Emma.

"Yes, that's fascinating, but what are you trying to PROVE with all of this?" Lyudmila said wearily.

"I - I don't know!" Emma said, throwing up her hands. "Maybe I just want proof that it's happening? That it's real?"

"What, that a bunch of - of - Highlanders are wandering around the world, hanging out with famous historical people?" Lyudmila said, frowning and shaking her head.

"Oh, you guys got Highlander as well?" Emma said, perking up. "I didn't know Russia got it!"

"Not the point, Emma!" Lyudmila snapped.

Emma gasped and covered her mouth.

"Maybe they're all Timelords!" she whispered.

"Timewhat?"

"Whoever they are, I'm going to find out!" Emma said, pulling the books towards her. "And when Ivan gets back, we're having a nice, long chat!"

"Whatever," Lyudmila grumbled, turning back to the chaos of the world on her 12 inch screen.

* * *

><p>The sound of the waves of the Black sea brushing the shore wafted through the windows of the whitewashed cottage. Sunflowers surrounding the dwelling rustled in the wind. The shouts of children along the beach could be heard in the distance. Russia sat primly on a stuffed chair, a fine china teacup in his large hand. A woman with long, wavy curls and a clear, olive complexion sat across from him, stirring her tea, not looking up at him.<p>

"So. It will be presented as a liberation, then?" Georgia said, shaking her curls. "Papa Russia to save the day for his lost people?"

She looked up and arched a brow, sipping her tea.

"That is the plan, yes," Russia said, fiddling with his teacup.

"And all the turmoil across your border countries -"

"Yes, my doing," Russia said with a nod and a smile. "One cannot

invade without reason."

"But only the border countries?" Georgia said, setting her teacup down. She gave a slight smile. "You won't, for instance, make an attempt on Lithuania?"

Russia stiffened slightly.

"No," he said. He took a quick sip of tea. "Too difficult to do without consequences."

"And you think that this mass expansion of your borders will come without consequences?" Georgia said, shaking her head.

Russia smiled sadly.

"I am not supposed to consider those consequences," he said.

"And yet, here you are."

"Yes."

Georgia squeezed her knees and looked down.

"I am unsure what exactly you are planning, Russia. Beyond whatever it is your boss is trying to do. It worries me. A country who acts on his own...you DO remember..."

Russia took her hand in his free hand and brushed the top with his thumb.

"I remember many things," he said. "Tell me, Georgia, do you think I could come here if my people did not wish for it?"

Georgia looked up and him and pulled her hand from his with a light smile.

"Yes, I do," she said wryly. He reached out a hand to brush her hair, but she blocked it.

"You are a tough person to escape," she said gently. "But I have, my friend. Respect that."

Russia nodded and dropped his hand. He stood and set his tea on a side table.

"Be ready," he said as he walked to the door. Georgia looked down.

"I have heard of your trifles," she said, a tinge of amusement in her voice. "Your own countrywomen? Have you been spending too much time with Italy?"

Russia stopped at the door, his face reddening a bit.

"Are you jealous?" he asked, his voice cheery, his eyes flashing.

"Not as such," Georgia said, looking up at him. "Though when I heard, I did wonder if you are truly so lonely."

"It is not that simple," Russia said with a smile. His violet eyes continued to flash. Georgia looked up at him, her amusement draining from her face.

"Oh, Russia, I meant nothing -"

Russia nodded at her and opened the door.

"You are as beautiful as ever, Georgia," he said quickly. "Tell the children I say hello."

* * *

><p>Books filled the library table in stacks of three to six high. Half were marked with all colors of Post-it, tabs, tags and construction paper. The other half, those to Emma's right, were waiting to be properly cataloged. Emma's laptop was open, an Excel spreadsheet listing countries, one name per country, numbers of pictures found per name, and the books in which each image was found. A book was propped next to the laptop. She carefully tagged an image in red.<p>

"Another Feliks," she muttered. She typed in her information, stopped, then dropped her head on the table and groaned.

"What does any of this matter?" she mumbled into the slick wood surface of the table. "Even if they're all running things, who the hell do I go to with this information?" She pressed a cheek against the table and sighed. "So I've found a race of immortal beings. So what? Sure, I may be dating one of them, but does it change anything?"

She blinked.

"Yes. Yes, it changes things."

As she pulled her head off the table, a photo stuck to her cheek. She pulled it off and looked at it. Grumpy Ludwig signing his parchment. She sighed and flipped the photo over. Germany Surrenders, Berlin, 1945.

"I just wish I knew who you all were."

She stared at the inscription. Germany Surrenders. Berlin, 1945. She read the inscription once more, wiggling the little thought she was caught on. Germany Surrenders. Germany. Surrenders. Germany.

"I mean, that would be an enormous amount of Timelords -"

She wiggled harder at the thought. She looked up at the Excel sheet.

"One name per country," she muttered. She pulled the photo of the UN members loose from under the stacks of books and stared at it. "One person per country. One person, no names. Well, it's the UN, but -"

She looked at the photo of the man she knew as Ludwig.

"-but no names on this one, either. Just Germany surrendering. And this one -" she picked up the photo labeled Allies Meet. "No names, just - the Allies."

She looked at the stacks of books.

"But - they are always named...all the people involved..."

She flipped the picture of Ludwig. Germany. Surrenders. The thought snapped.

"No way," she said, her voice low. She scrolled down the Excel sheet. She smiled. "Oh, yes. This is it. This is it!"

She saved the file, closed her laptop and stuffed it in her messenger bag as she stumbled away from the table. She ran out of the library, leaving her many, many stacks for an unlucky librarian. The chill December wind hit her hard, bringing with it flurries of snow. She quickly buttoned up her coat and shoved her hat over her ears as she weaved through people on the sidewalk, not noticing how they grouped together in circles, talking with ducked heads.

She was shivering with cold and excitement when she burst through the door of her apartment.

"Lyudmila! You'll never guess - what's wrong?"

Lyudmila and her friends Anatoly and Nikolai were all gathered around Mila's television, arguing. They paused as Emma made her entrance.

"Big things are happening, Emma," Mila said as she walked to Emma and dragged her to the TV set. "Three fourths of the Duma has disappeared."

"I - what?" Emma said, staring at the TV.

"The President is forcing those left to vote to make the Presidency a permanent position," Anatoly said, crossing his arms and narrowing his eyes. "And this channel is the only one willing to report on it."

"Well, not without glowing praise for Mr. President," Nickolai said shaking his head.

Emma flashed back to her conversation with Ivan a few weeks before. A business trip, he said. It wouldn't be pleasant. She furrowed her brow.

"What's going on, Ivan?" she muttered.

* * *

><p>The doorbell rang repeatedly in a large house in the middle of a quiet suburb. America yawned and stretched as he walked to the door.<p>

"Who is up at -" he checked his watch. "Eleven o clock in the morning on a Saturday? Crazies." He opened the door. "I don't want any -! Oh! Russia!" America squared his stance and leaned against the door frame, looking up at the tall, scarfed man. "'Sup? Just wandering my amber waves of grain for fun?"

Russia smiled and loomed over America.

"We need to talk," he said.


	8. Chapter 8

The protesters streamed through the streets of Moscow, splitting when they hit narrow lanes, converging upon boulevards. They shook signs above their heads reading "Democracy Not Autocracy!" and "Free Russia, Always!" and "We Cannot Be Hidden!"; they chanted "We are here!" and "No Dictators!", the din echoing off brick and stone buildings. The young and the old filled their ranks, bundled up against the winds of New Years Eve, the steam from their breath creating a haze above the crowd. The mid afternoon sun struck windows and snow. Russia squinted against the glare, watching the crowd's progression from atop the roof of a building. He placed his large, mittened hands on building's stone railing and leaned over, looking off in the distance to the protesters' destination.

"They are going to the Kremlin," he muttered. "The boss was correct. What a hassle."

He sighed, tightened the knot under his chin holding the flaps of his ushanka in place, and stared down at the crowd.

"At least fifteen thousand, I am sure," he muttered. "Maybe more. And this only in Moscow. Petersburg, Irkutsk, Volgograd, Pskov, all have protests. I may yet have hope. Perhaps."

The individuals of the crowd bled together, a stream of colored coats, as homogeneous as the sound of their chants. Yet a fluff of curl escaping from a bright red cap caught his eye. He furrowed his brow. The owner of the curl shook her sign, her voice hidden in the group. She looked up for an instant, tucking her hair back under her cap. Russia shook his head.

"Idiot."

He pushed off the stone railing, stuffed his hands in the pocket of his long, black winter coat and walked quickly through the door to the roof and down the stairs. He exited to the street from a small cafe (which was full of Russians gawking and chatting about the protest over tea, coffee and blini). The crowd streamed around him. He glanced around over the heads of the protesters until he spied the red cap bobbing steadily toward the Kremlin. A few long strides, and he was next to her. A short spin and he was blocking her.  
>Emma bumped into him and backed away, sign fluttering from her gloved hands, hat askew. She pulled her hat straight and looked up.<p>

"Oh, izvinityeeaah! Ivan!" she beamed up at him, but immediately her smile faltered. "Oh! Uuuhh, Ivan! Hahahaha! How are you?" She cried over the roar of the crowd, who split for Ivan as always. He was smiling, as always, but it was small and grim. His eyes were dark.

"What are you doing here?" he said, voice raised just enough for her to hear him.

"Doing my part!" Emma cried, reaching for her trampled sign. Russia stepped on it and slid it further into the crowd.

"Leave." He said, voice firm. "Now."

Emma stood up, mouth agape. She frowned and narrowed her eyes.

"No!" she said, crossing her arms. "I am not going to leave! I'm adding my voice to the dissenters! Free Russia, Always!"

Russia loomed over Emma. He stepped forward, crowding her until she stepped back. Realizing what he was doing, Emma stood her ground as he stepped forward again, but Russia merely shoved her back with the bulk of his body. She stumbled, and he caught her by the arm and pulled her upright. He let her go and stepped forward again. She attempted to squeeze around him, but he blocked her and forced her back. He moved forward until they were at the edges of the crowd, then up on the sidewalk, then at the entrance of the cafe. He pulled the door open and pushed her gently inside. The door closed on them both, and the roar of the crowd was dampened.

"What did you do that for?" Emma cried jabbing a finger into his chest. "You have no right!"

Russia corralled her towards a corner table. He pulled out both chairs.

"Sit," he said, doing so himself. Emma clenched her teeth, face red, and joined him with a thump.

"I was trying to help," she said, crossing her arms. "Add my body to the crowd! Why wouldn't you want that?"

"You are not Russian," Russia said, pulling off his mittens and removing his hat. "You are a foreign national visiting on a student visa. If they arrest you, do you think they will be kind to you? Do you think you will merely be deported?"

He waved a hand at a waitress, who snapped to attention and prepared two teas from a large samovar.

Emma stared at the table, mulling over what he said as the tea was placed in front of her.

"What exactly do you mean, arrested?" she said, looking up at him. He cocked a brow at her and took a sip of tea. She breathed in deeply. "Oh, God, even a peaceful protest is too much right now?" she said, eyes widening. "What the hell is going on right now?"

Russia shrugged and fiddled with his cup. Emma furrowed her brow.

"When did you get back?" she asked, scooting her tea out of the way and leaning toward him.

"Today," Russia said. "I called, but you did not answer."

Emma waved her hand impatiently.

"I know whatever you did on that 'business trip' has something to do with all of this, Ivan," she continued. "Come on, I want to know!"

Russia set his cup down and threaded his fingers together. He looked directly at Emma.

"It is a government takeover," he said calmly. "But I am sure you are aware of that. And now, as the Duma readies itself for the vote, protesters will not be tolerated. They will unleash the police on them before they reach the Kremlin. No one wants an embarrassing scene like people being unhappy with the Kremlin."

Emma paled.

"When?"

Russia paused and cocked his head, looking up.

"Now."

There was a sudden rise in the din of the protesters outside the cafe. There were shouts and screams. A crowd of people surged back into the oncoming group. Individuals shoved at each other, some running forward, others running back. Emma raised herself in her chair, brows lifting, mouth half open as she watched the chaos through the window.

"Christ!" Emma leapt from her chair. Russia grabbed her coat and pulled her back.

"You. Are staying. Here." He said, each word like a hammer against an anvil. He shoved her back into the chair. There was no smile on his lips when he let her go. "Drink your tea."

Emma glowered at him.

"You don't understand," she said, her voice low and frantic. "I have friends in that crowd, damn it! I need to find Lyudmila! She's marching right into danger!"

"You will do nothing," Russia said, calmly drinking his tea. "She chose to protest. A very brave girl. Now she must deal with the consequences."

Emma slammed her fists on the table, sloshing her tea.

"Not good enough!" she snapped, glowering at Russia. "I don't give a shit who you are, Ivan Russian man, but you are NOT going to force me to sit here doing nothing while my friend gets the shit beaten out of her! I WILL find her, and there is nothing you can do to stop me!"

She stood. Russia set his tea down quickly and stood with her, placing a heavy hand on her shoulder. He stared down at her for a moment, eyes flashing, face like stone. He blinked and shook his head, pushing her down in her chair once more.

"Stay here," he said, frowning at her. He shoved his hat on his head and stuffed his unmittened hands in his coat. "I will be back."

He stalked out of the cafe and into the crowd. The people surged around him, every now and then jostling him. He walked steadily through the furious and terrified mob, towards the smoke of tear gas and the tweets of whistles and the screams of the beaten at the head of the protest line. Police in blue uniforms and riot gear struggled with the crowd, batons cracking against heads and shoulders. Some fought back, only to be knocked to the ground. Russia watched and waited, glancing from one group to another. Finally he spied a woman in a white coat trimmed with fur trying to twist her hood from the grip of a policeman. Russia walked quickly toward her as she held a hand up. The policeman brought his baton against her arm. She cried out and dropped, covering her head as she bounced off the stone street. The policeman raised his baton again. Russia grabbed the baton and twisted it from the policeman's grip. The policeman looked up, confused. His face bloomed into a radiant smile as his eyes landed on Russia.

"Prevyet," the policeman said with a sigh. "I thought you would be here today."

"Of course," Russia said with a shrug. He pointed at the battles between the people and the police. "But tell me, what side do you think I am on?"

"You are always for the people!" the policeman said with a firm nod.

"Well, YOU are people," Russia said. He smiled. "What do you think is best for the people?"

The policeman's eyes glazed over. He stumbled back and shook his head. Other policeman in the group grew listless, swinging their batons at nothing. They glanced at each other, pushing away the people that they had caught, muttering to themselves.

"What are we doing?" cried the first policeman. He went up to a compatriot, wrenched the baton from his hands and threw it on the ground. "We are Russians, not barbarians! I do not want a dictator, do you?"

A cry went up from the policemen. Batons were tossed on the ground. Protesters were hauled up on their feet and brushed off. The policemen marched forward. The protesters were confused at first, then elated. The group gathered once more, lead by the police force.

"Too much, too much," Russia grumbled. "There goes my subtlety."

He kneeled over Lyudmila, still huddled on the ground, her uninjured hand hiding her eyes. He brushed her shoulder. She spread her fingers and gasped.

"You!" she whispered.

"Yes, me," he sighed. He scooped her up. She cried out, grabbing her arm, panting. He pushed through the crowd, which no longer moved unthinkingly around him. People streamed out of shops and buildings, joining the protesters in their march. Mila groaned at each person who stumbled into her and bumped her arm.

"Far too much," Russia said as he finally made it to the cafe. Emma waited at the entrance, holding on to the handle of the door so as to not get swept into the crowd.

"What's happening?" she cried. "Everyone in the restaurant just stood up and left as one!"

"It does not matter," Russia said, lifting his voice. "Take my arm!"

Emma grabbed his elbow and looked down at the groaning Lyudmilla.

"Oh my God! Mila, are you okay?"

"She is fine!" Russia said, fighting his way through the crowd.

"She needs a doctor!" she held on tighter to Russia and pressed close.

"She is fine!" Russia said. "Just follow me!"


	9. Chapter 9

Russia led Emma through winding streets, pulling her away from the crowd. He walked quickly, sweat beading at his brow, though he held the groaning Lyudmila steady. They twisted through tight alleys, brushing against the wet stone and brick buildings, then broke free into a long, wide, empty street. Large, sturdy mansions behind brick and iron fences lined the quiet boulevard. Emma gaped at the buildings as she hung on to Russia.

"You live in one of these houses?" she said, her voice muffled by his coat.

"Yes," Russia said simply. He stopped in front of an open gate, leading to a once grand but now dilapidated manor. The yellowed paint flaked from the walls, the windows were cracked and dusty, shingles hung limp from the roof, the gutters were bent and twisted.

"Oh," Emma said, staring at the manor. She nodded slightly. "Makes sense."

"Come," Russia said, leading her through the yard and around the building, to the edges of a garden that surely was overgrown in the summer. There was a small door sunk into the corner of the wall down a small flight of steps. Russia nodded to Emma, who quickly went down the steps and opened the door onto a large, pristinely clean kitchen. She took off her hat and gloves and tossed them on a counter, fluffing her hair. Russia lay Lyudmila on the tiled kitchen island, straightening her out on her back. He unbuttoned her coat and shifted her sleeves. He paused when Lyudmila cried out.

"Emma, go to the pantry," he said, nodding to an alcove. "Fetch a bottle of vodka."

"Vodka?"

"Her shoulder is dislocated," Russia said, taking off his hat and mittens and gently placing them under Lyudmila's head. "It must be fixed."

Emma paled, nodded, and stepped quickly into the pantry. One whole shelf was dedicated to various brands of various qualities of vodka. Emma, hands shaking, reached for a bottle and knocked it from the shelf. It shattered on the floor.

"Shit," she muttered, kneeling and picking up shards of glass. A large shard from the bottom of the bottle sliced into her palm. "Shit!" she cried out, dropping the shards she had picked up. They landed in the puddle of spilled vodka, spattering the liquor on her coat and shoes.

"What the hell am I doing?" she muttered.

She clenched her injured hand into a fist, stood, grabbed another bottle of vodka and rushed into the kitchen. Russia was gently removing Lyudmila's coat, ignoring the woman's groaning protests. He threw the coat over Lyudmila's lap and held his hand out for the vodka bottle.

"Another injury?" he said as he cracked open the bottle, looking at the blood dripping from Emma's fist.

"I'm fine," Emma said, wobbling a little, lightheaded. Russia grabbed her hand, forced it open and poured the liquor on her wound. Emma cried out, her head immediately clear due to the stinging pain. She yanked her hand back and held it to her chest.

"That hurt, damn it!" she snapped, glaring at Russia.

"Good. Then it is clean." Russia searched his pockets, pulled out a handkerchief and handed it to Emma. She took it, still scowling, and wrapped it tightly around her hand. Russia motioned with the bottle at Lyudmila's head. Emma nodded and lifted Mila as high as she could.

"What are you doing?" Lyudmila gasped. Russia held the bottle to her lips.

"Drink," he said with a smile, tipping up the bottle. Lyudmila took a few swallows, then pulled away, coughing and wincing.

"This is like kerosene," she said with a grimace. Russia looked at the label, then at Emma.

"Esh. You grabbed the cheapest," he said reproachfully.

"I'm not exactly knowledgeable in vodka," Emma said with a scowl. "Anyway, you're the one who stocked it!"

Russia shook his head and placed the bottle to Mila's lips again.

"Drink anyway," he said. "It will be better for you. Trust me."

Mila nodded and swallowed a couple more times before waving her uninjured arm and pulling away, gasping.

"Enough, enough!" she said.

"That should be enough anyway," Emma said wryly, lowering Mila on the hat. Russia set the bottle by the sink, filled a kettle full of water, and placed it on the stove. Lyudmila was loopy by the time it whistled.

"You," she said, pointing an unsteady finger at Russia. "It was all for you! You know that, yes? Right?"

She giggled and rocked on the counter.

"Yes, I know," Russia said, pulling the kettle from the heat. "Emma, please make tea?" He tapped a cabinet over the sink. "It is in here, with the mugs."

Emma tapped the island with her fingernails, then pushed off and busied herself at the stove. Russia leaned over Lyudmila, carefully straightening her arm next to her body, then bent her arm at the elbow so that the elbow stayed against the tile and her hand was straight up in the air, wrist perpendicular to the island.

"Are you ready?" Russia said, holding her wrist and gently moving a hand under her elbow. "This will hurt."

"I'm ready, I'm ready," Lyudmila said, waving her free hand with a giggle. "Just DO it already."

He set his teeth beneath his smile and rotated her arm toward her chest. Lyudmila gave a sharp scream. Her arm snapped into place with a dull thhk. Emma shivered as she poured water over three infusers in three mugs.

"Oh, that's much better," Lyudmila slurred, rolling her shoulder. "MUCH better!" She tried to lift herself up, but the injured arm slipped out from under her. Russia caught her, slid her off the island and onto her unsteady feet. Mila rocked on her heels, then fell against him.

"I love you, you know?" she said, arm thrown about his waist. She poked a finger into his chest. "You are...you are just SO great!"

"Yes, I know," Russia said, steadying her on his arm. He motioned at Emma with his head, and led Mila through the kitchen and out a swinging door. Emma followed, carrying the tea through a large dining room. Emma stared at the long wooden table and the dusty green curtains lit by the setting sun. The group walked past the dining room and through another door into a square study. Bookcases lined the walls. A desk, stacked neatly with papers, faced the main door, which opened into a large entryway. A twin bed on a metal frame with no baseboard was tucked into a corner, its quilts and pillows unwrinkled and tidy. The dusky twilight sun streamed through two windows on two adjacent walls, lighting the room in dark, shadowy orange.

"No no no no no nonono," Lyudmila said, giving Russia a hug. "You do not understand. I really love you, you know?"

"I am fully aware," he said with a sheepish smile. Russia unlatched her from his torso and pushed her gently to the bed. Lyudmila fell into it with a flop and a giggle. She snuggled into the pillows. Emma set a mug on the floor next to the bed and handed Russia a second mug.

"I feel nappish," Mila said with a yawn. "Sleepy and tired and sleepy. Why do you have such shitty vodka? It goes straight to the head."

"Rest a bit," Russia said, pulling Emma out the main door. "Drink your tea. Watch some TV. The remote is on the bookcase next to you."

Mila nodded, closing her eyes as Russia closed the door. He leaned heavily against the door frame and sipped his tea.

"An eventful day," he said with a smile. "Also, your friend loves me."

"Uh huh," Emma said absently, staring at the entryway and the curved, open staircase that led to the second floor. She walked around the first marble stair and placed a hand on the carved wooden railing, looking up at a darkened chandelier above the wide double doors. Russia followed her with his eyes, mug at his lips. She pulled her hand away, and her handkerchief bandage was covered with dusk. She grimaced in the quickly disappearing sunlight coming from two narrow windows next to the doors.

"I have not had the opportunity to properly clean my house," Russia said. He shrugged and took another sip of tea.

"Since when?" Emma said with a grin. "The eighties?"

Russia smiled and did not answer. Emma glanced up the stairs.

"May I have a look around?" she asked.

"There is nothing interesting up there," Russia said blandly. "Empty bedrooms. Furniture covered in sheets. And on this floor, very little is cleaned. My music room, the study, the kitchen. Nothing -"

His eyes lit up. He walked past Emma and into a hallway. Emma set her tea on the bottom stair and followed him past rows of empty or locked rooms. The floor opened up once more into a type of lobby, a small set of double doors to the outside on one side, a set of windows on the other, and two sets of carved, wooden double doors facing the hallway. Russia placed his tea on a dusty, ornate table standing between the double doors and threw open one set as the sun disappeared behind Moscow's rooftops.

A very large, empty room, dark and still, lay beyond the doors. Windows from floor to ceiling lined the walls that did not hold the double doors. On the left wall, a set of glass doors within the windows led to the twisted, mangled garden. Emma stepped cautiously into the room, her shoes clicking against the wooden floor. Russia felt along the curtained wall next to the double doors until his hands dipped into a hollow space.

"Ha," he said, pulling away the curtain to reveal a set of master switches. He flicked a few, then pulled up on a large switch. Light burst from the chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. Emma squinted and put her hands over her eyes, dazzled. She bit her lip and took a deep breath.

"So Russia, when is the last time you had a ball?" she said, her voice light and joking.

"Hmm?" Russia said absently, fiddling the controls of a sound system embedded into a wall. "A ball? Well, back in the glory days, a large ball was held every month or so."

"Even during the Soviet days?" Emma said, sidling up to Russia.

"Not at first," Russia said, looking through a shelf filled with albums. "At first there was the sense that balls were frivolous. But then, well..." he smiled down at Emma. "People enjoy frivolity."

"Wow, Russia, you really haven't updated since the eighties," Emma said with a laugh, flicking through the albums. "That's a lot of Michael Jackson. And so many Soviet pop stars..."

"I did not think it was necessary to clean house," Russia said with a shrug, still searching through the albums. "Most events are held at the Kremlin. I do not need to host so much. Aha, here we go!"

He pulled out an copy of Swan Lake.

"Really? Ballet?" Emma said with a grin.

"Tchaikovsky is a master," Russia said with a mocking superiority, lifting a single brow. "And it is worthy of this room. Unless you are more partial to Billy Jean."

"I like both," Emma said with a shrug. Russia slipped the record from its cover and placed it carefully on a turn table. The needle raised over the record and lowered. A waltz blared from speakers in the corners of each wall. Emma covered her ears at the sudden noise.

"Sounds classic!" she cried. Russia took her hands from her ears and pulled her to the center of the floor. He placed one of her hands on his chest, her fingertips brushing his shoulder, and held the other out in his, and placed a hand on her waist.

"Oh no," she said, trying to pull away. Russia held her steady. "I don't know how to dance properly!"

"You did not know chess, either," Russia said with a shrug and a smile. "So, you will learn this, too."

He tapped the tempo for her, then swept her around, counting the steps, leading her feet. She stumbled a bit, looking down, trying to follow, until it clicked in her head.

"Like a triangle," she said, smiling up at him. "A triangle that shifts around!"

He nodded and lead her through a simple waltz to the end, then pulled away from her and gave her a bow. She laughed and curtsied, grabbing up the sides of her long winter coat. The music moved on to a quiet Pas De Deux. Russia stepped forward and placed a hand on Emma's cheek. Emma's heart beat faster.

"I have missed you," Russia said, his eyes soft. He leaned over her and kissed her, a long, deep, hungry kiss.


	10. Chapter 10

They lay upon their winter coats, Emma curled up in Russia's arms, clothes in small, neat piles around them. Swan Lake continued to play, jaunty jigs following slow, sad movements.

"THAT...was far easier without worrying about Lyudmila coming home suddenly," Emma said with a grin.

"Well, she is present," Russia said thoughtfully, brushing his hand through Emma's curls.

"Yeah, but she's completely knocked out," Emma said with a giggle. "Which is preferable to her knocking on my door and yelling 'keep it down!'"

Russia smiled, still brushing her hair with his fingers.

"It is so easy to love you, Emma."

Emma went still.

"You love me?"

"Of course," Russia said as a matter of fact. He sighed and hugged her close. "I have never loved someone so simply. There is no trouble. No strings. No catch. Just...love."

Emma rolled her eyes, pulled away from him and sat up. She arched a brow at him.

"There is always a catch," she said wryly.

He smiled and brushed her cheek.

"Do you love me?"

"I - I think I do," Emma stuttered.

"Then that is all that matters."

"Really?" Emma dug through a pile of clothes, pulled out her undies and wiggled into them. She picked up her bra and hooked it on. "I don't think it's that simple. Russia."

Russia sat up and reached for his shirt.

"What is the difficulty?"

"Well..." Emma grabbed her jeans, stood, and shoved them on, jumping a bit to get them up her legs. "Well, what about my visa? I have four more months and I'm gone. And I don't think the government is going to let me stay just because I fell for some guy."

"I think they will," Russia said, fiddling with his buttons. Emma snorted. "I can talk to someone. I know people."

"Oh? And what part of the government do you work for that you can do something like that?" She asked sweetly, a little muffled as she pulled her sweater over her head. "Can you tell me that? Russia?"

"I work all over," Russia said, pulling on his trousers. "It will be nothing."

"And what if I need to go back to Australia?" Emma asked, fluffing her curls. Russia looked up at her, crestfallen.

"You would go back?" he said.

"I need to finish my degree," Emma said with a shrug. "You wouldn't deny me that, would you? Russia?"

Russia smiled.

"Ah, of course," he said, nodding. "No problem, then. I will visit you! Once a week, even."

Emma narrowed her eyes.

"You would fly, once a week, all the way from Moscow to Perth?" she said sardonically. "I suppose you have a lot of frequent flier miles to use up? And your job here isn't so important?"

Russia waved a hand in dismissal.

"It is simpler than you think," he said.

"Is it?" Emma flopped back on the coats, sitting with legs crossed. "Is it? Because most people would find such a schedule difficult. Russia."

"Why do you keep saying my name?" Russia said, exasperated. "This argument is annoying enough!"

Emma's eyes lit up

"YOUR name?"

"Yes," Russia grumbled, twisting his hand in the air. "Like a broken record! Russia, Russia, Ru -"

He paused. His eyes glazed over. Emma's lips curled into a grin.

"Shit," he muttered.

"I knew it!" Emma breathed. She clapped her hands.

"Shit," Russia said, rubbing his face with his hands.

"I knew it!" Emma crowed. "I mean, it was terribly unlikely, but still, all the photographic evidence, and once one puts two and two together -"

She stopped. Realization walloped her.

"Shit!" Russia exclaimed, throwing out his hands and splaying his fingers. "The day was so busy...I was distracted...I..." He grabbed her hands. "How did you find out?"

"The, uh, the woman - the picture - you brushed it off -"

"I wanted YOU to brush it off," he said, eyes wild. "You should not know!"

Christ," she whispered, looking up at Russia. Hesitantly, she pulled her hands from his, held out her left and barely brushed the tips of his hair with the flat of her palm. "You are THE Russia? The actual, real country? The Anthropomorphic Personification of the land that I am currently inhabiting?"

Russia closed his eyes with a pained expression and nodded. Emma let in a deep breath and let it out slowly.

"My God," she said, her voice low. "It is like touching a fairy tale. Like meeting the North Wind or Apollo."

Russia's eyes snapped open. He shook his head and took her hand.

"I am not a god," he said. "I am what I am. Just Russia."

Emma began to tremble.

"But - it is still impossible!" she said, squeezing his hand. "To know that you are all among us, walking around -"

"What do you mean 'you are all'?" Russia said, narrowing his eyes.

"Well, you aren't the only one who slipped into an old photo," Emma said with a dazed shrug. Russia leaned over her.

"Have you spoken to any of them?" he said quickly.

"No," Emma said, snapped out of her daze by Russia's worried expression. "I haven't told anybody. Not even Mila! She tolerated my research, but -"

"Good." Russia let go of her hand. His shoulders slumped.

"What's wrong? Why is my knowing the truth such a bad thing?"

"It is not," Russia said, rubbing his hand through his hair. "but if THEY know that YOU know, then they will realize that you are not a trifle."

"A...trifle?" Emma narrowed her eyes.

"If they think I told you, they will think I care for you." He shook his head and gave her a very small smile. "They will think you are important. And you become a liability."

Emma looked down, wiggling her fingers atop her knees.

"A liability," she breathed. "Christ, you...you all actually act out what happens between countries? Wars, conflicts, betrayal, blackmail?"

"We ARE the countries," Russia said sternly. "What happens between countries is what happens between US."

Emma's hand covered her mouth. Her eyes flicked back and forth as she rolled through the history of Russia in her mind. She looked up at him, eyes wide.

"My God. The things you've done over the past millennia," she murmured. Russia placed a hand on her cheek. She flinched slightly then relaxed into his palm.

"Emma -"

His eyes narrowed. He clenched his teeth, pulled his hand away and placed it on his chest.

"What?" Emma leaned back, confused. "What's wrong?"

"It is nothing." Russia staggered to his feet. Emma stood with him, hovering around him nervously. He grabbed his coat from the floor and threw it over his shoulders.

"It really is nothing," Russia grumbled. "My boss is calling for me. Loudly."

"Your boss...?"

"The president." Russia leaned over her, kissed her, and gripped her shoulders. "I will not be long. Stay in the house!"

He let her go and walked toward the door. He stopped and turned, hand on his forehead.

"I forgot," he said. "Your New Years gift."

"New Years?"

"It is on my desk," Russia said, turning to go once more. "Open it! I will be home soon."

He walked out of the ballroom.

"Wait!"

Emma ran after him, sliding to a stop in the middle of the ballroom lobby. Russia was no where to be found, as if he had vanished once he passed the ballroom door.

* * *

><p>Russia slunk into his boss's office, hands in his pockets. His boss did not look up from the papers he was reading as Russia entered.<p>

"You called?" Russia said cheerfully.

"Sit down," his boss said, still not looking up. Russia complied, sitting heavily in the low chair opposite of his boss. His boss sorted papers for a few minutes more, tidied them into a stack, set them aside then threaded his hands together and stared grimly at Russia.

"One third of the Duma has been executed as traitors to Russia," he said, voice level. Russia shifted slightly in his chair, but his expression did not change. "The others who are not currently voting for my ascension have hidden themselves. Each one a vocal detractor of my sole rule, and they are still free to cause dissension."

"How inconvenient for you," Russia said blandly.

His boss's brows knit together.

"It is as if they had a warning," his boss said.

"Perhaps a spy in the office?" Russia said with a shrug.

"Then suddenly," his boss continued, ignoring Russia's quip, "Suddenly a small, insignificant protest by an untidy minority becomes a riot in the streets of Moscow."

"It was not a riot," Russia said, smiling pleasantly. "I would have felt a riot."

The boss sneered, his face scrunched up and sour.

"That is not the point!" he snapped, lifting himself up and leaning over his desk. He jabbed a finger at Russia. "YOU instigated the protest's expansion! YOU brought the people to the streets! YOU who is beholden to ME, and you DARE defy me!"

"I cannot push people into doing what they do not want to do," Russia said coolly, his eyes hooded. "If they joined the protest, then it was by their own choice."

"You filthy liar!" the boss screamed, slamming his hand on his desk, his eyes glittering. "You joined them! You were seen carrying a girl in the crowd!"

"You are still watching me?" Russia said, his face a mask. "How good of you."

The boss breathed in deeply, adjusted his suit jacket and sat back down. He threaded his fingers once more.

"It seems you think you can work behind my back," he said calmly. "That you can move your pieces without me seeing. But I will have obedience, Russia. Even if I must take drastic measures to ensure you comply to my wishes to the letter."

Russia shook his head and chuckled.

"What will you do? Lock me away?"

The boss gave him a small, smug smile.

"Not you, Russia."

Russia looked sharply at his boss. His smile froze.

* * *

><p>Emma wandered into Russia's study from the main entryway and closed the door behind her. The TV was on with the volume off, a very stern anchor woman speaking with no sound. Lyudmilla was asleep, snuggled into pillows. Emma smiled and tossed her coat over Lyudmilla. The sleeping woman snorted and rolled over. Emma turned off the TV and walked around the tidy desk. Hidden behind a stack of papers was a small, flat box covered in green foil paper. Emma picked it up and rattled it.<p>

"Well, he said I could open it," she said with a shrug. She flipped it over and tried to pull the taped paper apart. Her bandage got in the way. Emma grumbled and untied the handkerchief, now dry and stiff with her blood. She dropped it on the desk and looked at the cut on her hand, a bruised split with no scab.

"Weird," she muttered, turning her attention back to the box. She was careful not to rip the paper as she untaped it, then slipped the box from its wrapping. She opened the white lid. A chain of white gold lay atop a fluff of cotton, Emma lifted it from the box. A charm hung from the chain, a tiny three dimensional chess piece. A queen, also of white gold. She laughed lightly.

"He let me be white," she said with a smile.

A flicker of movement outside the window caught her eye.

"What was that?" she whispered, peering into the darkness. The shape of a man slowly appeared from the shadows. Emma gasped, the chain and box falling from her hand. The windows shattered.

* * *

><p>"I am not sure what you mean," Russia said, cocking his head.<p>

"Yes you do," the boss said, his smug smile growing. "The girl."

Russia looked up and shook his head.

"The girl...?"

"Please. It is well known that you care for the girl!" The boss snapped. "You carried her from the protest!"

"A misunderstanding," Russia said lightly. "And the girl? Well, she is a fun time, but -"

"Deceive me if you wish," the boss said, narrowing his eyes. "But we will acquire her. They are at your house right now. Leave no stone unturned, I said."

Russia paled. His eyes flashed as he sat upright in his chair.

"You invaded my home?" he said quietly, harshly. "Not even Ivan the Terrible...not even STALIN -"

"I told you, I will have obedience!" the boss snapped. "And I will do what it takes!"

Russia jumped to his feet.

"You will stay here, sir!" his boss cried. "I command it! Sit. Down!"

Russia trembled on his feet a moment, then slumped back in the chair, eyes wild, face blank.

"That's better," his boss said, leaning back. "You will stay with me until she is in custody. Do I make myself clear."

Russia nodded slowly, glaring at his boss.

* * *

><p>Four men in black body armor and black ski caps jumped through the window, automatic weapons pointed at Emma and the groggy Lyudmila. Emma threw up her hands.<p>

"Wha - what's going on?" Mila said, shaking her head blearily.

"There's two of them," one of the men said. "We were told only one. A foreign girl."

"Take them both!"

"No, wait!" Emma said as one of the men grabbed her around the waist. "It's me! It's me!" She switched to English and kicked at her captor. "It's me, you douchebags! I'm the foreign one!"

The men glanced between each other.

"Should we eliminate the other one, sir?" on of the men said smartly.

"No! No!" Emma cried, switching back to Russian. "Look at her, she's drunk! She doesn't know what's going on!"

Mila blinked, her head lolling as she squinted at the men in black. She groaned and curled into a ball.

"The girl is right," the leader said. "We have what we came for. Move out!"

Emma's captor threw Emma over his shoulder and jumped out of the window. He sprinted to a dark van, opened the rear door, tossed her in and closed it. Emma got on her hands and knees, but was thrown against the walls of the van as is lurched forward.

* * *

><p>Russia and his boss sat in silence, staring at each other. The boss's phone rang. He pressed a button.<p>

"Yes?" he said.

"Target acquired," a smart voice answered.

"Good." He pressed another button and gave Russia a look of triumph.

"Listen carefully," he said, slinking his head forward. "You will help me secure my place as your supreme leader. I will no longer drag you into a new era. You will come willingly, no using loopholes, no riding on the waves of the people's desires. And if you don't," he pressed his index finger against his desk. "That innocent woman will be killed. For you."

"Innocent women are killed every day," Russia said, voice hard as stone.

"Ah, but this is YOUR innocent woman," the boss said, showing his teeth. "And we will treat her well. I promise. But one step out of line from you, Russia..." he trailed off and shrugged.

"I will find her," Russia said, voice low.

"Go ahead," the boss said with a smile. "Find her. Talk to her. Hug her and comfort her. But you will not free her, Russia. I command that until my seat is solid, she will remain under my control, and you will do nothing to help her escape!" He laughed. "Not alive, anyway."

He pulled a file from his stack and opened it.

"You may go now."

Russia pushed off his chair and ran from the room, his boss's chuckle following him down the corridor.

* * *

><p>Russia crunched through the glass scattered on the rug in his study. He kneeled next to his bed, where Lyudmila sat, curled up and sniffling.<p>

"They took Emma," she said, voice cracking, still loopy from vodka. "I did nothing. Oh, I am sorry for doing nothing!"

"I am glad you did nothing," Russia said gently, placing a hand on Mila's head. "They would have killed you."

Mila nodded and wiped her glazed eyes. She looked up at Russia.

"You have to take her back," she said, grabbing his arm. "I met her on exchange in Australia. She was the first person who spoke to me in the dormitory. The first person after four weeks! She is one of my very best friends!"

"Do not worry," Russia said, smiling at the drunk woman. "She will be safe. Sleep, Mila. Sleep well, then go home."

Mila nodded, gathering up blankets and pillows and stumbling out of the exposed room towards the kitchen. Russia's smile dropped from his face. He stood and walked to the desk, picking up the thin, white gold necklace with his large fingers. He spied the blood saturated handkerchief and picked it up as well, staring at it in his palm. A flash of an idea shot through his mind. His lips curved. He stuffed the handkerchief and the necklace into his coat, kicked out the jagged glass left at the bottom of one of the window sills and jumped out of the window.


	11. Chapter 11

Russia stood at England's door with his hands in his pockets and a smile on his face. England yawned and shivered a bit as a draft hit him.

"Most New Years celebrations are over, Russia," he said, adjusting the collar of his nightshirt and glancing at a clock on the wall of his foyer. "So for what do I have the pleasure of your visit at such a late hour? Are we to ring in the New Year with discussions about espionage?"

"Your spies are a hassle," Russia said with a shrug. "But I come for more personal reasons."

"Can't this wait until a more friendly hour?" England grumbled.

Russia leaned forward a bit.

"I have interest in a former boss of yours," he said. "You know her? Red hair, pale skin, quick wit."

England tensed.

"Elizabeth visited you?" he breathed. Russia glanced up, thinking.

"Sometime in the 1800s," he said, nodding and looking back at England. "Right after Napoleon left Moscow. She was very talkative. Wanted to know many things about me. Hobbies, mostly, which was odd. I never knew a human to be so upfront with a nation before I met her. Not one who was not my boss, anyway."

England glowered at Russia's shoes.

"That makes you the twelfth country that I know she's visited," he muttered. "And I don't even get a phone call. Damn it!"

"Really?" Russia said, cocking his head. "Interesting. Though, to be honest, England," he lowered his voice to a jovial whisper. "What I am most interested in is that this former boss is still able to come to my door with questions and requests over two centuries after she died."

Russia winked as England blanched. England's lips thinned.

"You're going to stand there until I let you in, aren't you?" he said. Russia merely smiled. England sighed and ushered Russia inside with a wave of his hand.

"By all means, enter," he muttered.

* * *

><p>The van stopped suddenly. The engine cut. Emma looked up as the doors flew open and revealed more men in black body armor. The roar of jet engines muffled her shouts as they grabbed her by wrists and waist and dragged her from the van. She kicked and scratched as they bound her hands and feet, blindfolded her and gagged her with duct tape. She was lifted and carried across tarmac, wind whipping through her curls, and up a small flight of stairs. The sound of the jet was both closer and muffled as she was dumped unceremoniously into a chair and strapped down to the seat. She screamed through the tape, but no one responded to her cries. Soon, the whir of the jet increased, and the heavy, dragging feeling of liftoff pulled at her body.<p>

* * *

><p>"It was a mistake," England said as he poured Russia a cup of tea. They sat in England's library. Shelves of books lined every wall. England's silver tea service sat on a squat, round, cherry wood table. The two countries were perched upon large leather armchairs that squeaked when either shifted in their seat.<br>Russia took his tea and swirled it in the cup.

"A mistake?" he said before taking a sip. "You say it may be a mistake to use magic to make a boss immortal?"

"Not immortal, I told you," England said sternly. "She will merely live as long as I do. Her life is linked to mine. She ages with me. She cannot become ill from normal diseases. She can be injured, but all injuries are healed in time. These injuries include those that would, under normal circumstances, lead to death." England frowned and shook his head. "Even the most gruesome of injuries, Russia. I once witnessed the aftermath of her attempt to end her life by plunging a dagger in her heart. It was...messy."

"I see," Russia said after a moment, his eyes hooded. "And again, you gave this power to a _boss_?"

"You met her," England said coolly, sipping his tea. "She is not the type to abuse such power."

"Yet you call it a mistake," Russia said, grinning.

England furrowed his brow, looking into his cup.

"She was not...happy with the gift," he said with a voice like ice. "Apparently I was at fault for keeping her from her beloved in heaven a little longer than she desired."

"She seemed cheerful when I met her."

"Yes. Well." England set his cup upon its saucer a little too hard and the tea spilled over the edges. "Perhaps she has completed her mourning and simply continues to hold a grudge against me. It does not matter. It was a mistake. I was thoughtless. I have learned my lesson. And if YOU are here to learn the means to bind someone to your life, I am afraid I will have to refuse you."

Russia's smile drooped a little. His eyes flashed.

"That I cannot accept," he said. "There is a matter I must deal with, and this is the only option."

"To bind some poor girl against her will?" England scoffed. "She's not even a country person of yours!"

Russia's eyes narrowed.

"How do you know this?"

"Please, Russia," England rolled his eyes and set down his tea. "She's been seen by more than one nation. We are all aware of the Australian girl. Though, I didn't know she was so important to you. Important enough to lengthen her life -"

"I have other motives than those you suspect," Russia said, voice low, leaning forward on his chair. "I would not be so foolish as to lengthen the life of a person because of my own personal desires. I come to you because it is essential for survival."

England, who glared at Russia when he was implied as a fool, lifted his brows at the word "survival".

"Your survival or her survival?" He asked. Russia did not answer. England sat back, tapping the arms of the chair.

"You could be lying," he said. Russia shrugged. England fidgeted a moment. The clock on his mantle chimed the half hour. He balled his fists and set his teeth.

"Fine," he said with a curt nod. "I will let you cast the spell. But. I will NOT tell you the recipe. You must do it here, in my presence. Understood?"

Russia's cheeks tinged with red.

"Yes," he growled.

"I'm not sure how we will proceed, however," England muttered, standing and searching the books on his shelves. "We will need a talisman..."

"Like this?" Russia searched his pockets and pulled out the thin, white-gold necklace. He let the charm dangle from the chain.

"Yes, exactly like that," England said, glancing at Russia, and then back at his shelves. "Even more difficult, we will have to acquire some of the young woman's blood..."

"Not so difficult," Russia said, pulling out the saturated handkerchief and dropping it on the table as England glanced back at him.

"Eeuugh!" England cried, grimacing. "How did you -? No, no, never mind." He shuddered and looked back at his stacks. "I really, really don't want to know how you came into possession of that. You are a sick man, Russia."

Russia looked down at the table and smiled.

* * *

><p>The sharp, tinny, salty scent of the sea filled her nostrils. She was slung over the shoulder of a man who, besides his choice of transport of her body, was much more gentle than her previous captors. She heard the clang of boots on metal, and the smell of the sea was hidden by the smell of oil and astringent. She heard people speaking Russian, almost at a distance, though the men walking with her transporter did not speak. They went down, and down again, past the hum of engines, past the hiss of pipes. Finally her transporter stopped.<p>

"This is the prisoner?" Someone said incredulously.

"She is more dangerous than you would think," someone next to her transporter said.

"Yes sir," the first person said, trying to hide his doubt behind dutiful obedience. A buzzer sounded, and the rhythmic sound of metal sliding on metal. Emma was carefully laid on a thin mattress. Her blindfold was removed. She was in a cell, 10'x10'. The bed she lay on was attached to one wall. Across from her was a sink and toilet. The door to her cell was solid, save for a slit in the center that could be opened and closed from the outside. Her transporter, a large, neat man in a blue uniform with a wide, striped collar, took a knife out of his pocket and flipped it open.

"I will release your bonds," he said quietly. "And remove your gag. You will remain still. Understood?"

Emma nodded, trembling. The man quickly cut the ties at her wrists and ankles. Emma slowly rubbed her wrists where the ties had cut into the skin. The man peeled the tape away from her mouth. She opened it, but the man placed a finger to his lips and shook his head. Emma took a shuddering breath and closed her mouth.

"This is a temporary situation," the man said calmly, kneeling next to the bed. "You are being detained until your threat has ended. You will be treated humanely while detained. You will not be allowed access to a phone or legal assistance, so do not ask for either. Your guards are not allowed to speak to you, so I suggest you do not try. Other than that, we will do our best to fulfill your requests. Understood?"

Emma scowled at the man and nodded.

"Good." The man stood and pocketed his knife. "Do you have any requests at this time?"

Emma looked around at the bare walls of her cell.

"Um. Do you have a magazine or something?"

The man's lips twitched. He bowed slightly, and left the cell. The door slammed shut behind him. Emma curled up on the thin mattress and burst into tears, deep sobs ripping from her chest.

* * *

><p>It is done," England said, pulling the necklace from the deep red liquid and holding it out to Russia. Drops of potion sprinkled the library table. Russia hesitated, then took the necklace in his own hands.<p>

"This will protect her?" he said, examining it.

"So long as she wears it, yes," England said, using a napkin to clean up the stray drips. Russia looked sharply at England.

"You said that Elizabeth wished to die," he said with a smile. "Why did she not simply remove her talisman?"

"Oh." England busied himself with cleanup, not looking at Russia. "No one can remove the necklace."

"No one?"

"Well." England looked up and gave Russia a tight smile. "You can. But no one else."

Russia's brows rose.

"You refused to remove her talisman?" he said, genuinely surprised. "I forget sometimes what a bastard you can be, England."

"Yes, well." England coughed. "Don't you have somewhere to be?"

Russia stared at England a moment, then nodded and stuffed the necklace in his pocket. He stood, and England followed him to the door.

"I will not forget this," Russia said with a slight bow. "I will see you again soon. Next time about spies."

And he was gone.

England let out a deep breath and ran to his library. He scooped up the cast iron cup that held the potion and padded quickly to his kitchen.

"Right," he said, holding the cup over the sink. "Before he finds out that I deceived him."

His hands shook. The cup remained upright.

"Come on, courage," he muttered. "Don't give him the chance to trap some innocent girl! The necklace gives her a choice!"

Still the cup remained unpoured. He frowned and brought it back to his chest.

"Fine," he snapped. "Just in case, then."

He opened a cabinet above the sink. Dozens of small, round glass bottles with all colors of liquid were stacked four deep in the cabinet. He pulled out an empty bottle, carefully filled it with the deep red potion, and sealed it with a clump of wax from the cabinet beneath the kitchen sink. He placed the bottle with the other potions.

"Just in case," he muttered again, closing the cabinet door.

* * *

><p>A pile of magazines lay in front of the cell door. Emma did not move when they were slipped through. She stared at the ceiling, huddled in a ball on the mattress, unaware of how much time had passed. She perked her ears up at a small commotion outside the cell. The door slid open and Russia walked in, carrying a three boxes. He looked around the cell, cheeks tinged with red.<p>

"THIS is being treated well?" he said, dropping the boxes and clapping his hands.

Emma rolled off the mattress, chest tight with excitement.

"Thank god!" she cried, jumping into his arms. He hugged her tight and kissed her, then gently pushed her away and kneeled at the boxes.

"I brought amenities," he said, opening up one and revealing pillows and quilts and rugs. The other was full of scented soaps and towels and toiletries and clothes. The third, stacks upon stacks of books. Emma's heart sank as the contents of each box was revealed. "I have a television coming," Russia said, pulling out the quilts and throwing them on the bed. "They say no to a computer, even one without the means to access the internet. Ah, well."

"So I have to stay here?" Emma said, sitting on the floor next to Russia. "For how long?"

"Not long," Russia said, busying himself with unpacking the boxes. Emma fingered the fringe of a rug he rolled out on the steel floor.

"So this is what it means to be a liability?" she said finally. Russia paused and looked at her.

"This is not what I meant," he said, brushing a hand through her hair. "This should not have happened. But I promise, it will be over soon."

He put a hand in his pocket and pulled out the necklace.

"Listen to me, Emma," he said, unhooking the chain and placing it around her neck. "No matter what happens, you must trust me."

Emma brushed the charm with her fingers.

"What's going to happen, Russia?" she said, her eyes narrowing. Russia placed a hand on her cheek.

"Please trust me," he said, his voice low. Emma hesitated for a moment, then nodded, blinking tears away.


	12. Chapter 12

Lyudmila brushed a curtain aside and looked down on her street, pressing a hand against the frosty window. A soldier stood at the corner, hands resting on the automatic weapon hanging around his neck and off his shoulder. His stance was square, if relaxed. She sighed and pulled the curtain closed, biting at a thumbnail. Mikail, Anatoly and Polina, a colleague from her school program, were gathered around her TV, flipping channels back and forth.

"The president, as is correct by the views of this station, calls for a reconnection with our lost sheep...It is not invasion to reclaim land and people who rightfully belong to Russia!...The president is seen here on the floor of the Proper Duma, discussing the traitorous acts of former colleagues..."

"There's no point," Lyudmila said, grabbing the remote from Anatoly and turning off the TV. "The independent station is dead."

"There's still the radio," Polina said, perking up in her position on the floor. "The stations keep changing, but they broadcast every day! Yesterday they said that the Prime Minister is still alive."

"Oh good, the leader of the powerless opposition is alive," Mikail said bleakly, sinking back into the couch.

"They aren't completely powerless yet," Mila said, sitting next to them. "Or else the false news wouldn't keep telling us how terrible and powerless they are."

"This is all insane," Anatoly groaned, covering his face with his hands. "You know my mother is going mad with worry? She calls me from Arkhangelsk, frantic, telling me about the bad times, telling me to come home. I tell her that travel is restricted and she says 'It's like my grandmother's youth!' Mother of God."

They all jumped as the telephone rang. Lyudmila pushed herself off the couch and hovered over the receiver.

"Your mother isn't the only one going mad with worry," she muttered, picking up the phone. "Halo?" She switched to English. "Hello again, Mrs. Gaverty," she said sadly. "No, she is not here. Yes, I am aware that she is not answering her cell phone. Yes, I -" she paused, and lowered her voice. "Yes, I am aware that it has been almost two weeks. Mrs. Garverty? Oh, please...please don't cry...no, I don't know, I can't...yes, I will let you know as soon as I am sure of something. Hello? Halo?" She shook her head and placed the phone back on its stand. Her friends watched her, glancing between each other.

"When will you tell her the truth?" Anatoly said, crossing his arms.

"What, that I hazily remember Emma being taken by a group of armed men after the protest?" Milla snapped, flopping on the couch. She dashed a few angry tears from her eyes and rubbed her once injured shoulder. "Everything is a blur from that night. And I will not add to the woman's worry with drunken memories."

Anatoly shook his head.

"It is worse not to know," he said. "If her daughter is dead -"

Mila jabbed a finger in his chest.

"She is not dead!" she said, voice high. "Don't you even think such a thing!"

The group lapsed into silence, Mikail and Polina looking anywhere but at Mila and Anatoly. Mila set her teeth and sunk back into the couch.

"Go fetch my radio," she said to Polina. "In my room. Let's see if we can find the opposition."

* * *

><p>Emma studied Russia as he contemplated his next move, fiddling with the buttons of his grey military jacket. They sat on the floor, chessboard propped on a cardboard box.<p>

"You are fairly dashing in uniform," she said. She nodded to his ushanka in his lap. "Though the fuzzy hat is a bit much."

"Your attempts to distract me are futile," Russia said, moving his knight and threatening her queen. "And the hat is standard with the uniform."

"And you wear the standard uniform?" Emma rubbed the back of her teeth with her tongue as she thought of her next move. "When you go to war, anyway."

"It is traditional, yes," Russia said, brushing a hand over his ushanka.

"You must have worn a lot of uniforms over the years," Emma said, hand hovering over her queen, then dipping and moving her bishop instead.

"Yes," Russia said, smiling at the board. "The heavy armor was awful. This is far more simple. You did not protect your queen?"

Emma shrugged. Russia opened his mouth to speak, then winced and grabbed his chest.

"Better run off," Emma said, leaning back against the wall, playing with her fingernails. "The president is calling."

Russia took her hand and pulled her with him to her feet. He cocked her chin up and stared at her, smiling.

"Emma, terrible things are about to happen," he said softly. "Trust me that you will be safe."

"What kind of terrible things?"

Russia shrugged. Emma frowned and moved his hand away.

"You keep saying these things, but you never tell me what's happening!"

"You think no one is listening?" Russia said, voice low. Understanding flicked on Emma's face. Russia leaned down, his lips brushing her ear.

"The necklace will keep you safe," he whispered. "I will come for you as soon as I can."

He kissed her, lips lingering on hers for a moment, then backed away and placed his ushanka on his head with a tap.

"I will see you again when we are victorious," he said with a smile and a nod. The door slid open, and he was gone.

Emma placed a hand to the charm hanging above her breast as she lowered herself on her bed. She reached behind her neck, undid the clasp, and held the necklace in her hand, rolling the charm around in her palm with her index finger.

"It just looks like a piece of jewelry to me," she muttered, furrowing her brows. She looked up as her door slid open, quickly putting on the necklace. The gentle officer stood at attention before her, holding a grey woolen mariner's coat, a pair of women's military boots and an ushanka.

"Miss, if you would join me for a walk?" he said, holding out the clothes. Emma narrowed her eyes, raising from the bed slowly.

"Why?"

"Do you not wish to join me?" the officer placed the boots on the rug in front of Emma's feet.

"Why now?" Emma repeated. "I haven't been allowed out of this room since I got here."

The officer did not answer her. Emma puckered her lips, grabbed the hat and shoved it on her head.

"Russians," she muttered, stepping into the boots and stringing them up.

* * *

><p>The conference room was packed with people; men in uniform, clerks and secretaries running back and forth, men in suits talking jovially. Russia's boss sat at the head of the table, talking on a phone as he watched a set of large monitors on the wall. Russia slipped through the crowd and settled into a chair next to his boss, placing his hat in his lap. The boss smiled and hung up the phone.<p>

"Today is the day we begin our ascent, Russia!" he said, clapping the large nation on the shoulder. "You wait and see! We have great things in store for us!"

Russia gave his boss a cheerful smile.

"I look forward to it," he said.

A man in uniform leaned down by the boss's ear.

"Twenty-two hundred hours," he said. "We are ready for phase one."

"Excellent." The boss leaned back in his chair. "Begin."

* * *

><p>A flock of fighter jets whizzed over the ship, unseen in the dark. The noise rattled Emma, and she huddled in her coat. She stood by the rail at the stern of the ship, watching the lights of the shore shrink as the ship trundled out to sea. The wind whipped up the curls that escaped from her hat.<p>

"Every one's off to the war, then?" Emma said, her breath puffing in the chill air as she spoke.

"We are off to liberate our brethren in hostile states, yes," the gentle officer said. He leaned against the rail and looked up at the stars. "All but this ship, of course."

"But we're moving out," Emma said, glancing at the dwindling, distant lights.

"We are protecting our asset."

"Protecting -" Emma groaned and shook her head. "Me? I require an entire ship? Just how important do you think I am?"

The officer looked down at her and shrugged.

"I was told that you were essential to Russia's success in this campaign," he said. "I will do what I must for Russia. Though to be frank, you are very average. And you complain less than most detainees, though you have had a regular visitor."

Emma raised a brow.

"And what do you think of my visitor?"

The officer's eyes glazed over. He blinked a few times, and shook his head.

"Visitor?"

Emma rolled her eyes and looked up at the sky.

"You must be very patriotic," she said. "may I go inside now? It's quite cold."

"I recommend looking at the stars," the officer said. "It is soothing. Do you know any constellations?"

* * *

><p>Anatoly pressed the button forward on the tuner, carefully searching each station. Static roared between pop singles and patriotic news.<p>

"...as the invasion begins and the propaganda is at its peak..."

"Wait, there it is," Polina said. "They had to switch signals again."

"Quiet, quiet," Mila whispered.

"...insiders at the front are currently sending us whatever news they can get through. We've had texts from the border of Latvia. Those in Estonia seem to be blocked in spots, though we've still had a few messages, emails. Georgia is a blank at this time from the Russian side, though our contacts in Ossetia are still very vocal. All borders have been crossed at this time by Russia in violation of all border agreements and treaties. Jets have been spotted off the coast of - wait a moment, I'm receiving some - Good God, that can't be so - are you sure -? Listeners, okay, listeners, apparently every single front is experiencing an all out, no holds barred defensive assault! No mercy for any who have crossed the border...it's...it's..."

"A bloodbath," Mila whispered.

* * *

><p>The boss's face screwed up in fury, his face blazing red.<p>

"What do you mean a wall of defense!" He roared, slamming his fists on the table. "Who has the capability - how was it hidden - I want answers!"

"We've spotted NATO and American forces," one of the uniformed men said, ear to his phone. "They must have been settling in the towns near the boarders for weeks now. We had been watching, but we did not see... our intelligence said all was clear, that none were ready to defend!"

"That is not faulty intelligence!" the boss snarled, whipping his head around and glaring at his team. "That is full out sabotage! Someone has been feeding you false information!"

"Sir -"

"I will have the heads of every deceiver!"

"Sir, we've lost a whole wave of bombers!" another man in uniform cried. "Anti-aircraft missiles, enemy fighters - we are being picked off like flies!"

"It is the same for the ground forces," the first man said. "Sir, I recommend full and hasty retreat immediately! The combined European forces, the United States - this is too much!"

The boss opened and closed his mouth. A deep chuckle reverberated throughout the room, cutting through the din of frantic men. The boss narrowed his eyes and turned to Russia. Russia gave his boss a toothy grin. The nation's breathing was ragged. His face was coated with sweat. he clenched the arms of his chair so strongly that his knuckles were white. Every now and then he winced. Still, he chuckled.

"Retreat, damn it, retreat!" the boss snapped, waving his hands above his head. "Only to our border! Wait for me to return before making any other decisions! And you!" he growled at Russia. "You will come with me!"

Russia nodded slowly, breathing heavily between his laughter.

* * *

><p>"A retreat has begun, with the defense attacking all stragglers," the reporter continued, his voice heavy. "We have lost connection with many of our contacts. It is unknown if they still live."<p>

"What happens now?" Mikail whispered. "Are they just going to sit at the border until the Americans go away?"

"I don't know," Mila said, shivering. "What will the other countries do? Will they attack us?"

"I haven't thought of being attacked by Americans since I was a very little girl," Polina said, holding on to her knees. "I used to think they would parachute in and take away my parents."

"Shush," Anatoly said, waving his hand.

"...have defected!" The reporter said breathlessly. "Again, and this is from our most interior contact, a number of officers have defected! Many of their men are following them - the rest of the front has not yet noticed - this is from every front - indications that this defection may have been planned for many weeks now, at the behest of the hidden Duma - the exact numbers are unclear, but those who have defected have taken vehicles and weaponry with them - here is a new report, this - this is directly from the Prime Minister, is this for sure the Prime Minister? Yes, our vetter says yes, this - this is a call to those who wish to join a, a ah, resistance, they call it. Take back Russia, he says. Free Russia Now and Forever, am I reading this correctly?"

The reporter paused.

"My God, they want civil war," he said, his voice wobbling.

"A people's front?" Mikail said. "I - I can't -"

"I can," Anatoly said firmly.

"What?" Polina squeaked, eyes wide.

"I didn't have a doctor's note to get me out of the army," Anatoly said, glancing at Mikail. "It wasn't so long ago that I've forgotten how to hold a weapon."

"I have never," Mikail said. "And I am not keen to ever try. This is insanity!"

"Well, I am," Mila said, standing. "I will not live like my grandparents, damn it! I will not watch my friends disappear into the night or sit by as our army is decimated because of the vanities of our supposed leaders! THAT is insanity, Mika!"

Polina, pale and shaking, stood as well.

"They will come to Moscow," she whispered. "Our homes, our lives...everything will be ruined. I cannot be a part of that. How is that good for Russia?"

"Then run, Polina," Mila said, throwing her arms around her friend. "Run far, far away. They will come whether you want them to or not."

* * *

><p>The boss paced the floor of his office, from time to time glancing at Russia, who stood at attention by the desk. Russia shook slightly, and sweat poured from him, soaking his hair, but his wolf grin still split his face.<p>

"Sit down!" the boss snapped, kicking his wastebasket.

Russia lowered himself into the chair with a wince and a shudder. The boss leaned over his desk glaring at his nation, unable to speak for a moment.

"What did you do?" he rasped finally. "Do you realize what you have done? How many have died tonight? DO YOU?"

"I am aware," Russia said, grinning, his eyes flickering. He placed a hand on his chest. "It was a great loss. All my people, for nothing. Of course," he wiped his hair from his eyes and sat back, "I informed you that it would be ill advised to take that land. To wage a needless war. Especially since it seems those you chose to attack were informed well ahead of time of your plans. How insensible that you would defy me. Such a waste of life."

The boss's face glowed red.

"You-you told- do you realize that you sacrificed your own people to make a point?" he said, voice trembling in rage. "You...you LEAKED -"

"YOU sacrificed my people," Russia said, his grin twisting into a snarl. "YOU sent them to their deaths! I wanted none of it! Look at me!" He held out his pale, shaking hands. "You think I want this?"

The boss stood still as stone, unable to speak for a moment as Russia lowered his hands into his lap and chuckled. The boss snapped, picked up his phone and dialed a number.

"Do it," he said roughly, and slammed down the receiver. He looked back at Russia with a smug smile.

"I have lost this one battle, you idiot country," he said. "But I am still supreme leader. You, however, have lost your little toy. Go fish her out of the sea!"

Russia's laughter increased as he stood slowly and staggered out of his boss's office.

* * *

><p>"And I'm pretty sure that's the great bear," Emma said, cocking her head. "Or maybe it's just a squiggle. You know, I'm not so good at constellations in the Northern Hemisphere. The stars are all strange up here."<p>

The officer's cell phone jangled. He looked at it a moment, then put it back in his pocket and pointed out to the dark horizon.

"Perhaps something that way looks familiar?"

Emma turned and peered out to sea, squinting.

"No, I -"

The thin wire whipped over her head and bore into her neck. She tried to scream, but the air was caught in her throat. She kicked back weakly and scraped at the wire. The officer stood firm. Emma could not gasp, could not cry. Her eyes rolled back in her head. Then came darkness.


	13. Chapter 13

The cold surrounded her, pulled at her, ate into her. Her limbs floated in the chill as her body sank, slowly, methodically. She opened her mouth and the cold filled her, burned her lungs. She kicked, swirling the aching cold around her. Her coat dragged at her. She sluffed it off and it fell slowly into blackness. She kicked again, her body buoyed by the sudden release of weight, pulling at the cold with her arms, pushing it away until she broke free from it, head popping out of it and into a new, sharper chill. She gasped for breath, stupified by the cold, and fought to keep her head above the choppy water. Dawn was breaking, the warm reds of the sky mocking her. She shivered as she paddled, but what little warmth was left in her body dissipated into the water. A tinge of frost coated her hair. Her arms grew tired.

_Just sink_, a voice whispered within her. _Just let go._

"No," she gasped. Muddled by the painful freeze as she was, she paddled harder as the sun crested on the horizon.

Though her ears were blocked by frost, she heard muffled shouts. She turned in the water, seeking out the noise, but her eyes blurred with salt and she could not see where the shouts came from. A lightweight net fell over her. She stilled her paddling, confused, before the net tightened around her and pulled her quickly, forcefully through the water. The lines of the net cut into her skin. She wrapped her fingers around it, holding her breath as she was dragged under the water. Once more she surfaced, her whole body pulled up from the cold and into the bright morning air. Water sloughed off her and through the holes of the net, pouring into the sea below her. She smacked into what felt like a wall, but must, her confused mind realized, be the side of a ship. The net handlers quickly dragged her over the side and onto the deck. Many blurry hands reached for her, pulling the net from her, combing the frost from her hair, wringing out her saturated clothes. Her teeth chattered, and she shook too hard to push the hands away.

"Well done, well done," a muffled voice said. "She needs warmth! Bring her to the Rose Cabin. Wait, wait, just a moment."

A soft hand with long fingers brushed her cheek. She blinked, but still could see nothing through the blur. A cup was pressed against her lips.

"Here you are, my dear," the amused voice said. "This will make you feel much, much better."

A cloyingly sweet liquid filled her mouth. She swallowed, warmth spreading from her throat and stomach to her limbs. She was overcome by a heavy grogginess. She yawned as the chill left her body.

"That's right," said the voice. "Feeling better?"

She nodded and fell into a dark, velvet sleep.

* * *

><p>The sun reflected off the waves, giving them the appearance of liquid glass. Russia squinted against the glare, leaning over the railing of the fishing boat. The crew swung a large, dripping trawling net over the rail and dumped its contents onto the deck. Russia watched as the fishermen sorted through their catch.<p>

"Still nothing," he muttered. "This is close to the coordinates. Where is she?"

He coughed and shook his head, rubbing sweat from his brow with his sleeve, and approached the captain, who oversaw his crew's progress.

"You are going in soon," he said. The captain looked up at Russia and frowned.

"Got to spend the day with us, sir," he said, crossing his arms. "Can't just force these men out of a day's work. Don't care who you are."

Russia smiled at the captain.

"You know who I am?" He said. He coughed again, shivering a bit in his coat.

"Don't know if I can say," the captain said. "But you feel important. This is important, too, though, even with conflict knocking at our door."

"I will stay with you, then," Russia said. "But I can only stay today. Tell me if you find anything interesting. Spread the word amongst the other captains. You will know what is interesting when you fish it out of the sea."

He felt through his pockets, pulled out a card and handed it to the captain. The captain nodded and shoved it in his jacket pocket. Russia went back to his place on the railing and looked out to sea.

"I will find you, Emma," he muttered.

* * *

><p>She surfaced from her sleep, her limbs heavy.<p>

"Oh, no, no, no, I don't think it's time just yet," the amused voice said. The sticky-sweet liquid filled her mouth and throat once more. She sank back into cozy darkness.

* * *

><p>He was in his early thirties, well put together, in jeans and a sweater, drinking coffee instead of tea. Lyudmila sat in the chair opposite him in the cafe and waited for him to notice her. He looked up from his newspaper, his face of stone as he studied the petite woman; her round face, her dark hair tipped with blue.<p>

"You are the one Grigory sent?" he said, shaking his head. "Useless. Taken in by a pretty face."

"Don't be stupid," Mila muttered, narrowing her eyes. "I will do my part."

The man glanced around the cafe.

"Have you ever been part of the military?"

"No."

"Have you even held a weapon?"

"No."

"What was your occupation before the current troubles?"

"I was a doctoral candidate."

The man sighed and looked back at his paper.

"Useless," he muttered. "What was your subject?"

"Chemical engineering."

The man's head shot up. He furrowed his brows.

"Really?"

Mila smiled slightly.

"Not so useless, eh?"


	14. Chapter 14

Lyudmila inspected the arrangement of the chemicals in four glass containers shaped like common water bottles, and nodded.

"Yes, this ought to do the trick," she said, looking up at her superior. The superior nodded, and four young men in suits carefully placed the containers into four backpacks.

"Remember the layout, keep it in your head," the superior said, handing out key cards to the men. "Go in separately. Remember to hit anything that's load-bearing. Pull the damn fire alarm before you leave!"

The young men nodded and left the small garage where they had gathered. Mila shuddered.

"Please tell me that people aren't going to die," she said, staring at her worktable.

"Not if they run at the fire alarm," her superior said, clapping her on the back. He smiled grimly. "And if there are casualties, hopefully it's only members of the False Duma."

* * *

><p>Emma slowly surfaced from her deep slumber. She stretched and snuggled into the heavy comforter that covered her and sighed. Memories of choking, of extreme cold, of pain crackled in her brain. Her eyes shot open and she jerked upright, gasping and grabbing her neck. The cool touch of her necklace soothed her, and she sighed in relief and flopped back into the many, many fluffy pillows.<p>

The room she inhabited was painted a forest green with oak banisters. A large oak wardrobe stood in one corner, a curvy, stuffed chair upholstered in dusky rose in another. The comforter and pillows were white with tiny curly-qs of vines embroidered into the fabric, and the circular oak bed stand held a small lamp with a rose shade of glass. light streamed through two rounded windows on the wall to her left. The whole of the decor made Emma feel as if she had fallen asleep in the middle of a forest glade.

She looked down at her arms and realized that she was wearing a set of women's pajamas.

"Someone must have dressed me," she muttered. "That is not at all a terrifying thought."

She sat up and slid from the covers, slipping her feet into a set of house shoes on the floor at the edge of the bed. Immediately she felt woozy. Feverish. She coughed.

"Must have caught a cold," she said, feeling her brow.

She opened the door to her room and poked her head out into a short hallway lined with five doors besides her own. She padded down the hall, which opened into a glassed-in lounge filled with chairs, sofas and tables arranged in groups. Every table held a vase or basket of flowers. A baby grand piano was positioned near a fully-stocked bar.

A man (a woman?) was stretched out upon a blue fainting couch, reading an e-reader and smoking a long, thin cigarette. Smoke curved around the androgynous person's short, slicked-back, black hair. The person wore a sharp, pin-striped suit, and their almond eyes squinted in concentration as they read. Emma began to cough again. The person looked up, smiled and sat upright.

"Ah, you're awake!" they said. they motioned to a square chair with thick cushions beside them and pressed a button on a side table. "Please, join me."

Emma hesitated for a moment, cocking her head at the person.

"I know you," she said. She walked slowly through the furniture and sat down on the chair, analyzing the person's face. She coughed and swallowed. "I can't quite place you, but..."

"I am Lan," the person said, putting out their cigarette in a nearby ashtray. "Lan Caihe. And you are Emma?"

Emma narrowed her eyes.

"You know my name?"

"Please." The person took a tin and a lighter from their jacket, pulled out another thin cigarette, placed it in their mouth and lit it. "When a country takes on a long-term human lover, it doesn't take long for the gossip to start."

Emma blushed and fidgeted in her chair.

"Those are terrible for you," she blurted.

"So they say," Lan said, taking a puff and pocketing their tin. "But I can't bring myself to care."

A young man entered the lounge from a set of stairs near the bar. He carried a small folding tray, upon which was a bowl of porridge, a glass of water and a glass of wine. The man set the tray in front of Emma, bowed, and hurried off down the steps.

"Rice and pork broth," Lan said, waving a hand at the bowl. "Don't eat it too quickly. You haven't had solid food for a bit."

Suddenly Emma realized that she was ravenous. She picked up her spoon and dug into the rice porridge.

"Interesting name," she said, swallowing her mouthful. "Lan Caihe. Like the immortal?"

Lan stretched forward and smiled.

"You know the stories of Lan Caihe?"

Emma took a sip of wine and nodded.

"I study Asian lit. Hard not to come across the Eight Immortals once or twice."

"Well, I'm flattered!" Lan said, delighted. "I suppose I won't have to go into my life story, then! Haha!"

Emma narrowed her eyes and held her spoon over her bowl.

"Wait a minute," she said, dubious. "Are you claiming to be the actual Lan Caihe?"

"The one and only!" Lan flicked ashes into the ashtray and grinned. Emma gave him an incredulous look. "Oh, don't be so sour! You of all people can't comment on my longevity! Glass houses and all that."

Emma set the spoon in the bowl.

"What do you mean?"

"Darling, really." They puffed in their cigarette and leaned back onto the couch. "You were stone cold dead before I fished you out of the water. Well, you were kicking by the time I got to you, but for the length of time you were under the waves..."

"What? I don't -" Emma placed her hand on her neck and shuddered. "That sailor. He...he choked me..."

"He _strangled _you," Lan said, waving a hand in the smoke. "And threw you overboard. You plopped in the water and sank like a stone. I know, I was watching."

"You were...watching?"

"Of course! I've been watching you for some time, now. Finally caught a break when that battleship lumbered off into the night without you."

Emma paled. She stood quickly, knocking the tray to the ground with her knees. The wine glass shattered.

"Oh, dear, what a mess." Lan sighed and pressed the button on the table again.

"You're the woman!" she cried, shaking her hands at Lan. "The woman with the pictures! Your the one who - who showed me the nations! Oh, my God, why did you DO that?"

Lan shrugged.

"My own reasons," they said. They bit their lip and raised their brows. "But isn't it fun to know?"

Emma clasped her neck and sank into the chair, breathing raggedly.

"It was...night time when he choked me," she whispered. "It was day when you caught me up in the net. Under the water for that long..."

"Means you were dead." Lan crushed their cigarette in the ashtray.

The young man returned, saw the mess, and took a broom and dustpan from a corner. He cleaned up hastily, then disappeared once more down the stairs.

"How?" Emma said, staring off through the windows at the clear blue sky. "How did I survive?"

Lan placed a finger on their lips and looked up.

"Did your friend Russia ever give you something to drink or eat that tasted extra nice?"

"Extra...?"

"Oh, you'd remember the flavor, trust me."

Emma shook her head.

"What about a trinket of some sort? To remember him by?"

Emma furrowed her brows and rubbed her fingers over the chain of her necklace. Lan smiled and pointed at her.

"There it is!" he said, amused. "Your ticket to immortality, my dear! Well, almost."

"What?" Emma squeaked, tightening her grasp on the chain. She sank into the chair, holding her head. "This is too much...too much to process..."

Lan rolled their eyes.

"Oh, you can find out, on your own, that nations are living, breathing beings, but a little bit of almost immortality is too much for you. Consistency, my dear."

"Where exactly am I?" Emma dropped her hands in her lap and glared at Lan. "How long have I been asleep?"

"You are on my yacht, currently located somewhere in the Atlantic ocean," Lan said, spreading his arms. "And you have been sleeping...now, let me think...for about fourteen days now."

Emma's mouth dropped.

* * *

><p>The conference room at the Kremlin was busy with the chatter of nations. Germany, Estonia and Latvia whispered amongst themselves, while Georgia politely listened to America's anecdotes of personal awesomeness. Russia sat at the head of the table, slumped in his chair, breathing heavily.<p>

"Fifteen days is long enough to threaten hostilities," Germany said, looking up from his discussions and crossing his arms. "As representative of the EU, I am asking _very nicely _that you remove your troops from your borders."

Russia closed his black-rimmed eyes and rubbed his flushed face.

"I have told you already, I cannot remove my people from the borders if they do not wish to go," he said. "They continue to hold their ground against my advice."

"Listen, man, you totally did us a solid by letting us know you were gonna attack," America said, folding his hands behind his head. "But you can't keep rattling your sabre without us, ya know, getting tempted to rattle back."

Russia opened his eyes, peering out of two slits, amused.

"You wish to invade _me_, now?" He said.

"Oh, no no no no," America said, sitting upright and waving his hands in protest. "I'm just saying -"

"It isn't very comfortable with all the tanks at my doorstep, my dear," Georgia cut in, hands folded neatly on the table in front of her. "My people are getting restless. I don't think I can hold them back forever."

"Same for me," Latvia said, twiddling his fingers on the table. "Our soldiers are blocking the way for now, but all it takes is one person to slip through with a well-aimed Molotov cocktail...I mean, can you keep your troops on your side of the border then?"

"Hold them back! Huh!" Estonia frowned and smacked his palm on the table. "I've got near riots in my streets! The Russian-Estonians are begging for a fight!"

"I understand all of your concerns," Russia said. He sighed and slid upright in his chair. "It is simply that -"

There was a shock wave of noise that rattled the walls of the conference room. All of the visiting nations turned to the window, gaping at the ball of dust rising into the sky from a few blocks away. The offices of the Duma crumbled as they watched, disappearing into a pile of rubble. Debris rained down upon the rooftops and streets as far as the red square. Russia's face and stance did not change.

"- I am a bit busy at the moment. With other concerns."

* * *

><p>"Two weeks?" Emma cried. "I've been sleeping for -" she gasped, narrowed her eyes and clenched her fists. "You! I remember the drink...you - you drugged me!"<p>

Lan shrugged.

"Only a little," they said with a smile. "Had to make sure we were well away from Russia. Or anywhere, really."

"Why?" Emma cried. She began to cough, and soon was stuck within a coughing fit. Lan waited until it passed. She slumped weakly in the chair.

"At the behest of a friend," Lan said, pulling out their cigarettes once more. They lit one and smiled. "Really, it's nothing personal. You seem like a fine young woman. But my friend and I have a history, and I do like to keep him happy."

"I want off this boat," she snapped.

"I'm afraid the answer to that request is no, darling."

Emma glowered at him.

"Now don't be like that." Lan sat up and patted her on her knee. "You will be perfectly comfortable here, I promise. Plenty of clothes in your wardrobe, all your size! Bathroom around the corner. Oh, there's a pool and hot tub on the top floor, library, game room, kitchen and formal dining room below. That's also where my little greenhouse is." They smiled and brushed the petals of a set of lilies on the table. "I do love my green things."

"Wonderful," Emma muttered, crossing her arms over her chest.


	15. Chapter 15

Every fishing boat was docked. Arm soldiers guarded them, threatening anyone who came near. A crowd of men roared angrily at the soldiers, kept at bay only by the weapons aimed at them.

"Go home!" an officer called to the men. "Be off with you! This area is off limits and a possible breeding ground for insurgents!"

"I need to make a living!" One man cried. "Would you have us starve to flush out the insurgents?"

The men roared their approval of the comment, jeering at the soldiers. The officer scowled, pointed his weapon at a boat and shot the hull with a ratta tat tat. The crowd went silent.

"I will have my men damage each of these vessels if you don't leave NOW!" The officer bellowed. The crowd of men muttered angrily, but they slunk off in pairs and groups.

"That was Ilya Ivanovich's boat," one man muttered to another. "He didn't even come today. Got to support our government, he said. Huh! Wonder what he'll say now?"

As the crowd dispersed, one tall, sandy-haired man was left on the docks, ignored by the soldiers. He huddled in his military coat, breathing into his scarf, staring at the beached trawlers. He looked out to sea. Images of a young woman flashed through his mind. Face blank, eyes open, curls floating in the darkness. Then suddenly, coming to, struggling, limbs flailing in the icy water, gasping, choking, eyes rolling back...and then once again silently floating in the darkness.

"I have sent her to hell," he said bleakly. He coughed, a deep, racking cough, and slumped off from the docks towards the deserted streets of St. Petersburg.

* * *

><p><em>Our guest is doing well. A bit grumpy for the first few days, but a little pampering goes a long way. Of course, darling, I am still flummoxed as to why you want this dear little girl. I'm ready for an explination any time you are ready to give it!<em>

_Ta,_

_Lan_

China smiled at the email.

_No explinations now, my sweet,_ he typed. _Just know that she's important to me and show her a good time._

* * *

><p>Emma finished up her final lap and pulled herself out of the pool, wringing out her hair over the edge. She padded over to a reclining deck chair holding a pile of fluffy white towels, grabbed one up and dried herself off. Lan sat in an adjacent chair, looking at his cell phone with a slight frown and sipping on a gin and tonic. They wore a lightweight blouse, white, flowing trousers and strappy, heeled cork sandals with hair arranged in finger waves. Lan set down the cellphone and stretched.<p>

"Watching you exhausts me," Lan said with a smile. "Pools are meant for quick dips and splish-splashing, not for actual exercise!"

"Oh, I've always liked the water," Emma said, scrubbing her head and wiping down her blue one piece. "I swim nearly every other day at home, you know. Ocean's right next door, so it's hard to avoid. I'm pretty good, if I do say so myself."

"Oh, do you like diving, then?" Lan said, excited. "Ever snorkled?"

Emma laughed and settled in her chair.

"Well, of course," she said, picking up a fruity mixer from the deck table between her and Lan's chairs. "Perth is right next to a lovely reef."

"Well! I must take you to the Carribbian and let you get a taste of their water! No," Lan clapped their hands. "I WILL take you there! THAT is our current destination! Such beautiful blue water!"

"You'll let me on land, then?" Emma said, smiling sweetly. "To rent the gear?"

"Rent?" Lan splayed their hand over their chest. "Perish the thought! We have everything we need here! Masks, little snorkly things, wetsuits..."

"Wetsuits?" Emma laughed. "It's a date, then!"

She looked out the windows sealing in the top deck, staring out to the horizon at a thick, grey strip in the distance lit by the setting sun.

"How long until we get there?" she asked, motioning at the strip of land with her drink. "I mean, where are we right now?"

"Well THAT is the United States," Lan said, placing a finger on their lips. "Somewhere quite north, I believe. Sooooo perhaps a week? Oh, a whole week of anticipation! Delicious."

They sat up quickly and set their drink down firmly.

"What am I thinking?" Lan said, shooing Emma with their hands. "YOU must shower immediately! Really, dear, you SHOULD wear a shower cap with each dip to protect those curls!"

"Oh." Emma felt her head. "But..."

"NO buts," Lan said firmly. "Off you go! You should dress for dinner anyway. Mahi mahi tonight, love, and wear that lovely blue dress, the A-line. Go on then!"

Emma smiled sheepishly and padded off down the stairs. Her smile dropped once she reached the washroom. She leaned against the closed door.

"Wetsuits," she breathed. "Lucky break!"

* * *

><p>China sat on a wide, white couch, pouring tea for his guests: America, Germany, Canada, Italy, England, France and Japan. He passed out the cups to each nation, and took one for himself.<p>

"I am not sure why you have gathered us here," Japan said in his quiet voice, swirling his tea. "Such an odd arrangement of nations."

"I've always thought the same," China said with a small smile. "But the seven of you meet regularly anyway. Although you may notice that a compatriot is missing."

"Just tell us what you want, China," England said, frowning and putting his tea on the table. "You are playing games, and I don't have the patience."

"What do you mean by missing compatriot?" Germany asked, suspicious. "What has Russia to do with anything?"

"I'm glad you brought Russia up!" China said cheerfully. "The poor fellow. He seems to be suffering currently."

"He is in all out civil war," Germany muttered. "A stalemated one at that."

Italy gasped and covered his mouth with his hand.

"Oh, no!" He cried. "That poor, big, scary man! It's so sad!"

"And really, really messy," America said, wrinkling his nose at the tea. "Fella's in a bind, that's for sure."

"Yes, quite tragic," China said, crossing his legs. "But what I am most worried about is the aftermath. What will be left when all is said and done? And what will YOU do if the results are, shall we say, unpleasant?"

The other nations looked uncomfortable for a moment.

"It is a matter to be discussed after his unrest ends," Japan said with a firm nod. "We have no sway in the matter."

"What if I had the means to help you hold sway in the matter?"

"What are you on about, China?" England said, narrowing his eyes.

"You remember the girl Russia had hanging off him for a while now?"

"Ah, the lovely lady," France said with a sigh. "A sign that Russia's heart does bleed! Does love! Does -"

"I have her in my care," China cut in quickly.

France stuttered to a stop. Every nation looked at China in surprise.

"How on earth did you manage that?" England said crossly.

"A matter of luck," China said with a shrug. "And I have confirmation that her relationship with him was anything but trivial."

The nations glanced at each other.

"SO you mean that she might be a way to - keep him in check?" Germany said, stroking his chin. "If the worst was to happen?"

"Ooohhh, Germany, how could you say such a thing!" Italy cried, throwing his arms in the air. "You can't mean that!"

"I am just putting words to thoughts," Germany said grumpily.

America's eyes gleamed.

"Control Russia..." he murmured.

"America, I don't think -" whispered Canada.

"Wadda I gotta do?" America said, leaning forward on his chair.

* * *

><p>In the dark of her room, long after midnight, Emma tied off the sleeves to a blouse and stuffed a pair of jeans, socks, and underwear into it, then tied off the bottom as tightly as she could. She tied the sleeves around her waist, the cotton shirt, sliding around on her wetsuit. She slipped on a pair of swimming socks and pulled on a swimmer's cap, the latex pulling at her forehead as it settled into place. She opened the door to her room, padded down the hall weaved through the furniture in the shadowy lounge, and slipped out the door to the deck. A gust of cold, salty air buffeted her and she shivered as she slowly approached the railing.<p>

"And where do you think you're going?"

Emma leaned against the rail and turned around. Lan stood in the door to the lounge in a large, white fur coat, the glow of their cigarette a bright dot of light in the darkness.

"It's nothing personal, Lan," Emma said, stepping up on the rail. "But I can't stay here and wait to see what you and your "friend" are going to do with me."

Lan took a drag and smoke whisped from their lips, curling over the fur collar of the coat.

"Oh, no, please, don't, stop," they said with a small smile. "My dear, do you know how many immortals there are in the world? Of that small pool, do you know how many are on my Christmas card list?"

"So you'll let me go?"

"Do you see me directing my little boat to shore?" Lan said sweetly. "I respect my friend enough that I won't just let you go, my dear. But as much as I love him, my friend is most certainly up to something." They took another drag from their cigarette. "And I'm not so keen on what he's planning. So, I'm letting you escape."

Emma blinked. She smiled.

"Thank you, Lan," she said. "You were a pretty good jailer."

"Until we meet again my dear," Lan said, with a wave of their hand.

Emma turned, climbed to the top of the railing, and dove. The wind whistled in her ears, stoppered by the sudden impact with the icy water. Her body seized in the cold, but she quickly recovered, paddling to the surface.

"Christ, that's cold!" she gasped as she hit the air. She steeled herself, and began paddling towards the white dots of light from the shore.

Lan pulled their cellphone from their pocket.

"Time to make a couple phone calls," they muttered.

* * *

><p>China smiled.<p>

"I would love an invitation to your exclusive little group," he said, nodding to each of the nations. "The G9 has a nice ring to it, don't you think?"

"Done!" America said excitedly.

"NO." Germany cut his hand through the air. "Not possible."

"That's not a decision you can make without our input, America," England said crossly.

"I also disagree with this decision," Japan said quietly.

"Okay, fine," America grumbled. "What else ya want?"

"Well, if joining the G8 is off the table," China said, touching his finger to his lips. "Perhaps we can stop this unpleasantness between us about the value of my currency?" He dropped his voice and said under his breath, "and let's sign a little something about your constant prodding over human rights."

China's phone jangled. He pulled it out of his pocket, answered it, listened for a moment, and put it away.

"Do we have a deal?" he said with a smile.

"Sounds good to me!" America said brightly. He held out a hand.

"America, this is -" Canada whispered.

"Good," China said, shaking America's hand firmly. "Now go fetch your prize."

"Where is she?"

"Oh, bobbing in the water off your coast," China said with a shrug. "What is the state...Maine, I believe?"

"Wait, she's...she's in the water?" America said, standing quickly and pulling out his cellphone. "You threw her in the water?"

"That's not quite what happened..."

"You're crazy!" America said, running from the room while dialing. "Yeah, hello? We need the Coast Guard asap! Maine!"


	16. Chapter 16

Emma pulled herself through the icy water, shuttering with each breath, doing her best to ignore the pain of the cold and focus on her slow approach to the lights of the shore. Her cap muffled her ears, and all she could hear was the rush of the water as she swam. But slowly that rush became a deafening noise. She ignored it, thinking that her body was under extreme protest due to the cold. The noise did not dissipate. A bright, white light flashed around her, blinding her for a moment. She slowed her pace, confused. There was a splash beside her, and another behind her. A man bobbed up in front of her. Emma sputtered, but before she could say a word the man had strapped her waist with a harness and pushed her into a small box. He climbed on the box, said something that was drowned by the roaring noise, and the box was lifted from the water. Emma watched the surface of the water disappear into the dark of the night. The box stopped, swinging from the edges of a helicopter. Many hands pulled her from the box, ripped her makeshift bag from her body, dried her vigorously, peppered her with questions.

"Wait -" Emma said, slapping away hands. "Wait!"

"The victim is delirious," someone said sternly. "Stick her. Get her out of the wetsuit!"

"What the hell are you doing?" Emma cried as someone forcefully jerked her arm straight. "Who the hell are you people?"

A needle entered her arm as two people unzipped the wetsuit and toweled her bare skin down. Emma struggled, but was hit by the marvelous sensation of not really caring all that much all of a sudden. She smiled and laid back, letting the rescue workers take over.

* * *

>England yawned, checking the clock on his washroom wall as he adjusted his tie.<p><p>

"Almost noon," he muttered. "Last night was far too late for me."

He sighed and walked down the hall towards his library. There was a crash from the kitchen. He whipped around and ran to the kitchen door, pausing and standing flat against the wall at the entrance. He eased the door open and poked his head around the frame.

A woman was kneeling on his kitchen counter rummaging through the cupboard. Her short red hair caught the light of the midday sun streaming through the window over the kitchen sink. She pulled out a box of oatmeal and tsked.

"Not really my cup of tea," she muttered.

England let the door swing open, stunned to stone. He blinked.

"Elizabeth?" He sputtered.

Elizabeth glanced over her shoulder and jumped off the counter.

"Oh, hello, England," she said, setting the oatmeal on the kitchen island. "So glad you're awake now. Have you anything to eat? I am famished!"

* * *

><p>Emma was pulled out of sleep by a persistent, excited voice whispering "Hey! Hey!" She awoke in a hospital bed, sheets tucked in to her chest, a drip line running from her arm.<p>

"Fantastic," she said groggily, lifting her arm to get a better look at the IV. She rolled her head over to look at her persistent visitor sitting next to her bed. She blinked and narrowed her eyes.

"Hey, I know you!" she said, sitting up in her bed. "Alfred! No, no, America! You're America, aren't you!"

America beamed at her.

"You knew who I was right off the bat!" he said. "Awesome."

Emma furrowed her brows at him.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, suspicious.

"Well, I came to pick you up!" America said. He grabbed a cloth bag off the ground and dumped the contents on the bed. "You had some clothes on you when you were rescued -"

"Rescued?"

"-but they were pretty lame. So I've got new ones for you!"

Emma sorted through the clothes - skinny jeans, a cotton long sleeve T-shirt that said "NSFW", a green hoodie, a pair of tennis shoes and a fluffy blue winter coat with a sports logo on it.

"Great," Emma said, "Thank you. I think."

"Go on, get ready!" America said, handing her the bag. "This'll be totally fun! You'll sleep at my house, and we can watch horror movies and make popcorn and -"

"What do you mean, go to your house?" Emma said, crossing her arms.

"Well, you'll be hanging out for a while," America said with a shrug. "What's the word again? Oh, yeah! Indefinitely!"

"NO." Emma pulled the IV from her arm, pressed a thumb against the needle mark and slipped from the bed. "I'm not going anywhere with you or anyone else! If anything I am going to Russia, or I am going HOME."

She grabbed the jeans and shimmied into them, pulled on the tennis shoes and made for the door. America jumped into action, sprinting around the bed and grabbing Emma's wrist. Emma tried to yank her arm away, but America's grip was solid, his arm not moving a centimeter as she fought to free herself.

"You're awfully strong for such a wirey person," Emma said, scowling.

"Listen close," America said, leaning in on her. His glasses slipped down his nose and he gave her a pleasant smile. "You can come home with me and play video games and stuff for a while, or I can let the army fellas waiting outside your door take you to a hidden facility and you can stay in a five by ten cell." He backed up, closed his eyes and widened his smile. "Your choice!"

Emma glared at him for a moment, then looked down at her feet.

"...What kind of video games do you have?" she asked hesitantly. America beamed at her.

"ALL the games!"

* * *

><p>England eyed Elizabeth as she spread tuna salad over a thick piece of bread and took a bite. She drank a sip of tea and smiled.<p>

"Are you going to give me hoary looks throughout my visit?"

"Forgive me for being suspicious," England said, crossing his arms and leaning back in the kitchen chair. "More than four hundred years since we've even spoken and you appear in my kitchen without notice?"

"Perhaps I am being spontaneous," Elizabeth said. England arched a brow. "All right then, perhaps I received a phone call from a friend who informed me that there is a new long-loved person running about in the world. A woman who gained her longevity from a European nation. I couldn't help but think of you, England my love."

England stared at the table.

"Of course," he muttered. "You wouldn't visit me purely just to visit, would you?"

"Well." Elizabeth tapped the lip of her mug. "I never had the impression that you were over your little...what do the young ones call it again?...'crush', that's it."

England's lips thinned.

"The term 'crush' has been used for many decades now," he said. "And it is not a crush! I would prefer not to be patronized by an old woman."

Elizabeth sighed and folded her hands together.

"Don't let's do this," she murmured. "I do not wish to quarrel."

"Yes, I gave Russia the means to link his life to his girlfriend's," England snapped, looking up at Elizabeth. "But if you are here to quiz me on the

appropriateness of this action, you needn't bother. Russia does not know that the potion we used can be consumed by the girl to make the spell permanent. And he does not know that the talisman she wears can be removed by both him and her. She is safe from him."

Elizabeth cocked her head and smiled.

"You did this for some unknown woman?" she said, glowing.

"Well, I...I wanted to make sure she had a...a choice..." England dropped his head into his hands. "I did not want to make the same mistake twice."

Elizabeth's face fell. She got up and stepped around the table, placing a hand on England's shoulder.

"There are so many things I have witnessed you do over the years, England," she said soothingly. "Some things more distasteful than others. But I am convinced, ultimately, that you are a decent sort. Your actions towards this woman proves my conviction. And I have never stopped loving you."

England looked up at her. She placed a hand on his cheek.

"Not as woman and lover, even still," she said quietly. "But as a woman loves her country. I am proud of you, my dear England."

She ruffled his hair and stepped away.

"I will be visiting," she said firmly. "You have had no chance to know me, Elizabeth, beyond who I was as queen and who I am on the pedestal you have placed me in your mind. Perhaps regular exposure to me will do you some good."

England combed his hair with his fingers a few times and adjusted his tie.

"Do not think you can convince me not to love you," he said coolly, "you shall fail."

"We shall see." Elizabeth smiled, then quick turned and headed for the door. "I am off to find this new girl, England my dear," she said, waving a hand in the air as she left. "One should have a proper introduction to long life, don't you think?"

And she was gone.

England cracked a delirious smile, then cleared his throat and began cleaning off the table. He paused for a moment, thinking.

"Wait a moment," he muttered, dropping the plate and the tub of tuna salad on the table and striding to the cupboard above the sink. He threw it open and peered inside. The small, glass bottle of red liquid, Russia's potion, was missing.

"Damn it all!" he snapped, slamming the cupboard closed.

* * *

><p>America sat across from Emma in the hired car, chattering excitedly.<p>

"I'll show you ALL around this place," he said, sweeping his hands in the air. "I mean, not Portland, Maine, it's pretty cool, yeah, but there's so much to see in my land, you wouldn't believe it!"

"That's wonderful," Emma said with a gritted smile. She looked out the window as America continued his chatter, letting wash over her without absorbing it. The car passed by squat brick buildings and thin houses with sharply pointed roofs. She spied a 7-Eleven. An idea snapped through her mind. She pressed her hands and nose to the glass.

"Crikey, what's that lil' store right there with the pumps?" she said, thickening her accent. America stuttered to a halt.

"Um, uuuh...a convenience store?" he said with a shrug.

"Struth, a con-VEN-I-ence store?" she said with rising excitement. "Just like in movies from the States?"

"Well, I guess, since this IS the states..."

Emma launched herself at America and grabbed his hands, looking at him with awe.

"Do they have any of those bonza American sweeties? Like the twizzlergerydoos?"

America laughed and patted her hands.

"They're called Twizzlers, of course," he said, puffing up his chest. "You've never had a Twizzler?"

"Blimey, I've never had ANY American sweetie," Emma said, her face downcast. America's eyes grew wide and his chin wobbled. He knocked on the glass separating them and the driver.

"Stop at that 7-Eleven!" he said. The driver nodded and pulled into the parking lot. America hopped out of the car, pulling Emma with him. He escorted her into the store, waving at a bored clerk.

"Okay," he said, pulling a twenty dollar bill from his wallet. "You can have -"

Emma gasped and grabbed the twenty from America before he finished.

"Is this REAL American currency?" she squeaked. "It's a right and proper color, green and peach! Australian money is like the rainbow, you know. Improperly flashy."

"Well, you guys ARE weirdos," America said with a laugh. Emma laughed with him and sighed, looking longingly at the bill. America smiled.

"Keep it," he said. "I can use another."

Emma put the twenty against her chest and looked up at America with shining eyes before pocketing the bill.

"Okay, let's see what you should try," America said, mulling over the shelves of sweets and treats. "Cheetos, gotta have Cheetos, Snickers, Twix - oh, man, everything from Hershey's catalog, of course, can't keep those out...OH!" He looked up from the shelf and smiled at her. "Go get yourself a slushie! Can't leave an American convenience store without a slushie, am I right?"

He went back to the shelf, picking up treats and stuffing it into the crux of his arm.

Emma smiled and walked quickly to the slushie machine. She peered over the shelves, making sure America was absorbed in his quest for sweets before sliding through the door. She walked casually around the store and up the street a bit before breaking into a run.

The hired car's driver watched as she disappeared around the building. He quickly got out of the car and ran inside the store.

"Sir!" he said, shaking America from his concentration. "The woman!"

"What about her?" America said, looking up and around the store. "Aw, hell!"

He dropped his piles of treats on the ground and ran out the door and around the building. Emma was nowhere to be seen. He clenched his fists.

"She wants to play dirty? Fine!" he snapped, stomping to the car and pulling out his phone. "Game on!"


	17. Chapter 17

Five hours of walking left Emma frigid, exhausted and well out of Portland. She stayed within sight of the road, but cut through yards and lawns and eventually a copse of trees in an attempt to keep moving north.

"North is the key," she chanted as she walked. "Just keep heading North."

The sun was beginning its afternoon decent when she could no longer ignore the sticky dryness of her mouth or her stomach's hunger protests.

"Fine," she grumbled as she spied a gas station a half mile off. "But we must be quick."

The store was small, the racks of goodies packed tight in the tiny space. Emma grabbed a couple water bottles and a bag of beef jerky and tossed them on the checkout counter along with the $20.

"Just this," she said, eyeing the $20 and hoping for the best when it came to change. The clerk ignored her, absorbed in a report blaring from the 10 inch TV he kept behind the counter.

"...very dangerous terror suspect," an anchorwoman with perfectly coiffed brown waves said, her face a mask of serious concern. "Last seen in the Portland area, but very likely on the move. If you see this woman -" a picture of Emma appeared on screen, bedraggled, groggy.

"When did he take that?" Emma muttered, disgruntled.

"- be advised that she is capable of extreme violence. She's about 5'6, last known wearing a Yankees coat. Dial 373-473-6856 if you have any information..."

The clerk's eyes popped out, and he looked at her. Emma glanced at the sports logo on her coat, and then up at the clerk, flashing him a grin.

"Is that what team this is for, then?" she said sweetly. She reached for her $20. Quickly, the clerk reached under the counter, pulled out a hand gun and pointed it at Emma, clicking off the safety.

"Holy Christ!" Emma cried, throwing her hands up.

"I don't want any trouble," the man said sternly, his free hand reaching for his phone. "So you stay still while I dial that number, all right?"

"Please don't call them," Emma said, pleading. "I assure you, I am neither dangerous nor a terrorist!"

"You are definitely not American!" the man snapped, cradling the phone under his ear. "That and the news report are enough for me!"

"Listen, you're making a terrible mistake!" Emma cried, looking down. "I -" she saw the gleam of her necklace poking out from under her collar. "Wait."

She looked up at the clerk, narrowed her eyes and launched herself over the counter, grabbing his gun in both hands and yanking. The clerk stumbled back in surprise, dropping the phone and pulling the trigger. The bullet whizzed through the stuffing of the coat, heavily grazed Emma's left shoulder and hit the glass doors of the drink cooler at the back of the store. The glass shattered. Emma cried out and tightened her grip on the gun as the clerk's loosened from shock. Emma freed the gun from his hands, slid off the counter and pointed the barrel at the clerk. The clerk's arms shot up in the air, his eyes wide.

"All right!" Emma said, shaking her curls from her eyes. "All right. I am taking THIS!" she grabbed the water and stuffed it in her pocket. "And THIS!" the $20 and the beef jerky joined the water. "And I will be taking one of THESE so that I can figure out where I am!" She pulled a map of Maine off a rack on the counter. "What town am I in?"

"Gray!" The clerk said.

"Okay, then!" Emma said, backing out of the store, her shoulder throbbing. She kicked the door open behind her. It slammed into someone trying to enter the store.

"Oh, I'm terribly sorry," she said, turning quickly, still pointing the gun. A woman screeched, dropped her purse in the slush in front of the door, and bolted. Emma lowered the gun and picked up the purse, waving it at the fast retreating woman. "Wait! WAIT! I am really, really sorry!"

Emma sighed and looked around the parking lot. A few others at the pumps had their hands up, staring at her fearfully. An empty car with no owner was at pump three. Emma searched through the purse, found a set of keys and pressed the unlock button. The car blinked.

"Please give this to her when she gets back," she said to the clerk, throwing the purse into the store and running to the car. She got in, revved the engine and drove off.

* * *

>"I am saying that it may be hasty to make such plans," a harried man said. He had the appearance of a well-kept person who had fallen on hard times. He wore jeans and a collar shirt, and his greying hair was mussed, but he held his shoulders straight as he leaned over the kitchen table now serving as the opposition headquarters.<p><p>

"And I am saying that Russia will need someone to quickly take control of the presidential position," a man over speaker phone said gruffly. "We do not want one of the generals or even one of our upstart officers stepping into the void left behind by the current President once he is out of power."

"He is not out of power yet," the man said, leaning back in his chair. "We may have some of the smaller cities, but until we have Moscow -"

"We WILL have Moscow," the gruff voice said. "It is only a matter of time. The Hidden Duma supports you. Besides, it is a temporary position until things are stable and national elections are held once more. I advise that you accept the position."

The man was silent for a moment.

"I will consider it," he murmured. "I must go. It is time to move locations again."

"Very well," the voice said. "Until we speak again, Prime Minister."

The Prime Minister pressed a button on the phone, sat back and sighed, running his fingers through his hair.

"Having a difficult time?"

The Prime Minister yelped and jumped to his feet, looking across the table. Russia relaxed in a chair on the other side, smiling, leaning on his arm.

"H-how long have you been there?" the Prime Minister sputtered.

"Eeeeeehhhh..." Russia glanced at his watch. "Half an hour. Very interesting conversation!"

"Half an - but how -" the Prime Minister sat heavily in his chair. "Am I discovered then?"

"Not really," Russia said with a shrug. "I always knew where you were. I simply did not visit until now."

"What on earth are you talking about?" The Prime Minister peered at Russia, furrowing his brow. "Do I - know you?"

Russia smiled, stood and walked around the table.

"Typically there is more austerity to this moment," he said, leaning over the Prime Minister. "I introduce myself, we banter, you deny, I give evidence, you accept. It is tradition. But I do not have the patience right now."

Russia grabbed the Prime Minister's head and forced the harried man to look into his violet eyes. The Prime Minister gasped, squirmed, his eyes teared up, he retched. Finally he pushed at Russia until Russia released him. He fell back into his chair, wiping the water from his eyes and breathing heavily.

"My God," he said, shuddering. "You are Russia?"

"Yes." Russia leaned against the table. "You are leader of the opposition, the protectors of the Republic. Your strength has grown, and you are a true rival to the President and his current government."

The Prime Minister sat up straight.

"Is this so?" he said quietly.

"I would not be here if it was not so," Russia said with a shrug. "However, I still answer to the President, so I cannot help you as of now."

"Then why come now?" The Prime Minister said crossly. "Just to let me know you exist?"

"No." Russia reached out, adjusted the Prime Minister's collar. "To give you warning. There are others who wish to rule me, Prime Minister, in the absence of the President. Some would be benevolent, some terrible. All would be dictators. The Duma offered you the presidency to ward off these interlopers." Russia smiled and patted the Prime Minister on the shoulder. "Take it."

He backed away and shoved his hands in his pockets.

"And do not fuck it up."

* * *

><p>Emma drove North for a few hours, doing her best to avoid the main highways. She twisted past lakes and forests, stopping on the side of the road from time to time, pulling as far into the trees as she could, to look at the map.<p>

"Five more miles," she said at one point, using her finger to measure the distance between where she was and the Maine/Canadian border. "Finally!"

A group of police cars whizzed by where she was hidden, lights flashing. She ducked in the vehicle and waited until they were a distant squeal.

"That cannot be for me, can it?" she muttered. Another set of police cars flew by. "That's for me, I'm sure of it!"

She set her teeth, stuffed the map in her pocket, and left the car, stumbling into the woods. The late afternoon sun streamed through the trees as she ran through soggy leaves, through small piles of snow, over roots and fallen logs. she kept North as much as she could, keeping the light to her left. She didn't know how long she worked her way through the woods, simply kept going, even as the sun threatened to set, even as her tennis shoes grew wet and her hands numb. She rested against a tree once or twice, and slowed her pace, but still she worked North.

Suddenly the trees ended. A bare strip of land stretched between the forest. Emma glanced around, realizing that not a half mile away was the road, and the road was saturated with police vehicles. Policemen patrolled the strip, America walking with him carrying a bullhorn.

"Keep your eyes peeled!" he said, his voice echoing through the trees. "She's bound to show any minute!"

Emma stumbled back into the trees, breathing heavily.

"What do I do now?"

"Canada!" America called across the border. "You see anything come out of the woods yet?"

In the distance, on the far side of the strip of land, Canada sat on a horse with a group of Mounties, holding a pair of binoculars to his eyes.

"Not yet," he said, his whisper carried on the wind.

"Well, let me know if you spy something!" America said with a wave.

As soon as America looked away, Canada turned his binoculars towards Emma, and beckoned to her. Emma glanced around, and pointed at her chest. Canada nodded, and made little running legs with his fingers. Emma gave him a curt nod, took a deep breath and burst from the trees at a sprint. The policemen looked up. Many pulled their weapons and started firing.

"Don't shoot to kill! Don't shoot to kill!" America cried, running after Emma. Canada kicked his horse into a run towards the border, reaching out his hand. A policeman lunged for Emma. She dodged him, but he got a hold of one of her feet. She stretched her arm across the border. Canada grabbed it, pulled her free of the policeman and over the border before letting her go. She fell onto Canadian soil with a thud and a groan.

"My ankle," she muttered. "And shoulder. And arm."

"Very nice," America said through the bullhorn. "Okay, Canada, hand her over."

"No," Canada said, raising his voice to a medium whisper. "I won't."

"Ha, ha, very -" America moved the bullhorn from his mouth. "Very funny, Canada! I made a deal with China fair and square! Now, hand her over!"

"I didn't make a deal with anyone," Canada said, reining in his horse. "And I don't have to give her to you unless she's a prisoner. Is she a prisoner?"

"No, but...but she broke a bunch of American laws!" America cried. "She needs to be tried in a court of law!"

"But you haven't even arrested her!" Canada said. "And if she asks for amnesty..."

Emma rolled onto her back and sat up.

"Yes! Yes, I, Emma Gaverty, citizen of Australia, ask Canada for amnesty!"

"There, you see?" Canada said with a smile. "We'll have to go through the paperwork and figure out what to do next!"

"Canada, you're being a douche!" America said, stomping his foot. "Be fair!"

"I am being fair!" Canada squeaked. "YOU'RE the one being unethical!"

He reached down for Emma once more and pulled her up on the horse.

"If you have a problem, file a grievance," he said, nodding firmly at America. "I'm going home."

He kicked his horse into a walk.

"Awww, come on, Canada don't...Canada, you're being...but, she was MY..."

America threw his bullhorn on the ground and stomped away from the border, muttering.


	18. Chapter 18

Russia strolled between the tents of the soldiers stationed at his border with Estonia, watching them rise for the day, dress in their fatigues, eat at the makeshift canteen, then...sit. And wait. And grumble. They sat in groups, playing chess or cards or watching videos on their tablets and laptops. They switched places for patrols that consisted of watching the Estonians and their allies stare back at them.

"What is the point of all this?" one young soldier said over his cards. "Shouldn't we retreat? Deal with our own troubles?"

"And show the world that we are in crisis?" The second soldier threw down a card. "Better to be at the border than to invite others in while we are vulnerable."

"Better to be a part of the troubles," a third soldier grumbled as he picked up the thrown card and arranged his hand before tossing out a seven of clubs. "Why are we not joining the defectors?"

"Yevgenyevich, idiot, keep your voice down," the first soldier murmured, glancing around. "I hear a whole squad was detained and shot for trying to join the opposition."

"Why keep our voices down?" the third soldier said, narrowing his eyes. "You think we are doing right by Russia here rather than with those trying to take Moscow back?"

The second soldier threw down his cards and stood.

"I won't be part of this traitorous conversation," he snarled, stomping off. The third soldier glared at the second, then leaned towards the first.

"I am running, tonight," he said. "Will you join me?"

The first soldier set his chin and nodded.

Russia watched this exchange with a smile.

"Simply a matter of time, now," he said, strolling off with his hands in his pockets. He hummed to himself as he left the camp. Suddenly, he froze and shuddered. A coughing fit overtook him, and he doubled over, unable to catch his breath. Finally, the racking coughs eased, and he wheezed as he shakily straightened. Speckles of blood covered his mitten. He stared at the stains and sighed.

"They have been discovered."

* * *

><p>"What did you say?" Lyudmilla said, panic tinging her voice. She stood in front of her work table covered in glassware, stopped in the middle of pouring one heated liquid into a vial. She set the beaker down with her tongs and pulled up her safety glasses.<p>

"We have been discovered!" her superior snapped, throwing her a backpack and a heavy woolen coat. "We must run! Now!"

"But...if I don't finish the pour..."

"Leave it!" The supervisor said, grabbing her arm. "We've already lost a whole unit! They're wiping us out! It's only a matter of time before -"

There was a shatter of glass below and the sound of automatic fire.

"Run!" The supervisor whispered, pulling out his handgun. "Go to the meet up location!"

Lyudmila nodded, quickly threw on the coat and backpack, and flew up the stairs to the roof. She hit the open air running, not looking around as she held her breath and took a running leap to the roof of the building next door. She landed hard and stumbled to her hands and knees. Without thinking, she stood, ran, and jumped again. Though successfully she made the jump, her foot caught on the brick ledge of this third building, and she twisted her body to cushion her fall with the backpack. The wind was knocked out of her for a moment, and her lungs struggled to catch air.

There were shouts in the distance, and the sound of gunfire echoed over the tops of the buildings. She rolled in close to the ledge, flattening herself against the brick and holding her breath.

* * *

><p>"Are you okay?" Canada said, propping up Emma on his arm in front of the door to his cabin, his face etched with worry. "That was an awful coughing fit."<p>

"Yes, I think," Emma said, straightening herself and shaking her head. "I've been trying to shake this cold for a number of days, now. I thought it was getting better..."

"Well, I'm glad I brought you here, then," Canada said in his light voice, ushering her inside. The cabin was rugged, both inside and out, made with rough-shaped logs. A fireplace took up one wall, and think, plush furniture with wooden frames faced it. A kitchen could be seen through an indoor window, and a hall led off to a number of bedrooms.

"I stay here in the winter sometimes," Canada said shyly, watching Emma as she examined the cabin. "I don't think it's fair to only live in one place, though. Quebec is only one Province, after all, and they're ALL important! In fact this year I'm supposed to be in Calgary, but I can't really travel very fast with a human guest, so..." he blushed. "I'm sorry, I'm talking too much."

"Oh, no, you're just fine," Emma said, heading to the warmth of the fire. She unzipped her coat and tried to sluff it off, but it was stuck to her left side. She hissed as she peeled it away from her shirt around her shoulder, dried blood gluing the fabric together.

"Oh, you're hurt!" Canada squeaked, rushing to her side and helping her remove her coat. He gently pulled the saturated shirt away from the skin around the wound.

"That's odd," he said, shaking his head and lifting his brows. "It looks like a scratch and a bruise."

"Huh." Emma poked the bruise and winced. "It certainly hurt more earlier today. I just thought I went into shock or something."

"That's not really...how shock works..." Canada pulled away and blushed again. "I'm sorry, I'm sure you don't want to hear a lecture from me. And I bet you want a new shirt, but I don't really have any clothes that aren't mine."

"If you have a T Shirt, I'm happy," Emma said.

"Yes, of course!" Canada beamed. He took her by the hand and led her to a bedroom.

"This one is yours, for however long you wish to stay," he said. "I have towels in the linen closet, both regular, and really, really big ones for the sauna."

Emma grinned.

"Sauna?"

* * *

>The boss looked over the report and smiled grimly.<p><p>

"And that is the end of the insurgents, then?"

An officer stood at attention in front of his desk.

"Sir, we are missing a few, but their numbers have been whittled down to almost nothing!"

"Excellent. Smoke out the rest. You may go."

The officer saluted and left. The boss looked to Russia, leaning against the wall next to the door.

"There goes your people's revolt," he sneered. "A little good intelligence and it was crushed within weeks."

"There will be others," Russia said with a shrug. "Guerrillas are like the Hydra. Cut off one head -"

"I've pulled a number of forces from the front," the boss interrupted, calmly shuffling papers. "They will be joining those protecting Moscow and a few other choice cities from assault and preparing for direct confrontation with opposition-occupied cities. I WILL route this uprising, Russia. So." He threaded his hands and looked directly at his nation. "It is in your best interest to tell me the location of the Hidden Duma so that we can end this nonsense."

"I told you, I cannot betray my people," Russia said with a smile, his eyes hooded. "Use your clever intelligence and find out for yourself."

The boss scowled.

"I have a mind to chain you up and throw you into the sea with your little foreign slut," he said. "What a useless creature you are. Pity that I was born in this nation, and not one more sensible."

Russia laughed, his laugh evolving into a cough. The boss smirked.

"Not doing so well, are we?" he sing songed.

"I am fantastic," Russia said with a smile as he wiped the damp from his brow. "Every day that passes brings me closer to the end. Whatever the outcome, sir, I assure you that eventually it will lead to your death. This pleases me to no end!"

The boss gritted his teeth.

"As soon as I am in complete control, Russia, I assure you, I will lock you in a cell and throw away the key!" he said with a sneer. "Enjoy your freedom while it lasts, fool! Leave my presence!"

Russia laughed on his way out the door.

* * *

><p>Emma sighed, leaned back on the wooden bench and closed her eyes.<p>

"I mustn't fall asleep," she said with a yawn, sucking in steam. "Can't let myself overheat."

There was a sudden gust of wind.

"Do you mind if I join you?"

Emma popped her eyes open and yelped, pulling her towel tightly around her. A woman stood in the mist of the sauna wrapped in a large, white towel, her red hair hanging limply in the humidity.

"Um, of course," Emma said, eyeing the woman suspiciously. The woman smiled and sat next to Emma, sitting primly on the edge of the bench.

"Forgive me, I have never been keen on the sauna," she said, smoothing out her towel. "It is one tradition of the Nordic and northerly countries that I could never grow fond of. The heat, the lack of clothing...it is all so barbaric. However, Canada told me you were in here, and I simply could not wait to meet you."

"Really," Emma said flatly, scooting away from the woman. "And who are you, exactly?"

"I am Elizabeth," the woman said, holding out her hand. Emma took it hesitantly, and shook it. "And you are Emma. Please don't be put out. Lan told me all about you."

Emma slipped her hand from Elizabeth's and cocked her head.

"You're a friend of Lan's? Are you another immortal, then?"

"Technically..."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, technically," Emma said, rolling her eyes and waving a hand. "Are you linked to a country or not?"

Elizabeth hid a grin behind a hand and cleared her throat.

"I am," she said.

"Criminy, how many of you are out there?" Emma said with a sigh.

"I'm not sure, actually," Elizabeth said thoughtfully. "Most live in hiding. Being a country's favorite is unpleasant, as I'm sure you've come to realize. Late night escapes, running from America of all people -"

"Canada told you?"

"No, America," Elizabeth said distractedly. "I asked him about you before calling Canada. Being used as a bargaining tool -"

"Yeah, and that led right to my death," Emma muttered.

"Oh, my, America killed you?" Elizabeth said, shocked. "He didn't say!"

Emma narrowed her eyes.

"No, the Russians killed me," she said. "I'm pretty sure it was ordered by Russia's boss, but - wait a minute, what do you mean, used as a bargaining tool?"

"America technically bought you from China with some political deals," Elizabeth said, folding her hands on her lap. "Did Lan not say?"

"No, he - she - he -"

"They, I've found, is best," Elizabeth said in the tone of a very proper instructor. "They are not open with their true gender and haven't been since long before I knew them. And 'they' is far less rude than 'it'"

"-shklee!" Emma snapped. "Said nothing! China, why - oh, oh, oh, of course, of course!" she smacked her forehead. "Lan and China. Lan's friend. All coming together now. Still, though, bought and _sold_ -"

"As a means to control Russia, if he goes down an unsavory path," Elizabeth said with a nod. "What with his current state -"

Emma stood quickly, tightening the towel around her.

"What is Russia's current state?" she asked frantically.

Elizabeth tsked and her lips thinned.

"Really, have you been kept in the dark all this time?" she stood and took Emma's hand. "Come."

* * *

><p>Lyudmilla stayed pressed against the brick ledge until long after the gunfire and the shouts faded away. Her face was numb, her body stiff when she finally picked herself up and hobbled to the roof-access door. Her right ankle was on fire, but she forced herself down the stairs and to the street. She tried her best to walk normally, just another young woman, a student perhaps because of the bag, trying to get home before dark. She held her head high as she winded through the streets, passing soldiers and a few hardy pedestrians. At a certain alley, she glanced quickly around and then slipped between the buildings. Still with her confident walk, she weaved between dumpsters, slowing her gait as she approached a solid, grey door. She touched a hand to the wall and brushed along the cement blocks, pressing in as she reached the door. The door pushed open with little effort. A hand reached out and grabbed her wrist, pulling her into the building.<p>

"Finally, another member!" her captor said, hugging her and kissing her cheeks. The young man was ecstatic. Lyudmila kept her face fearful.

"What are you doing?" she said, her voice wobbling. "Who are you?"

"You don't have to pretend with me," the man admonished, pulling her further into the room. "I am also a member of the opposition!"

Mila's face was blank. She pulled away from the man. She focused beyond his shoulder, trying to see into the dark room behind him without his knowing.

"Ah, do you want the password?" the man said with a shrug. "I'll give you the password."

"I don't know what you're talking about," she said, backing away slowly. Shadows slowly took shape in the room beyond. Bodies in the dark, kneeling on the ground.

"Of course you do!" the man said, his voice growing rough. "Why else would a young woman be wandering in THIS particular alley on THIS particular day?"

He grabbed for her. She jumped back, her chin wobbling.

"Please, sir, I will give you all of my money," she said, a sob in her throat. "I was just walking home! I took a shortcut! I - I must beat the curfew! I - I -"

The man narrowed his eyes at her, examining her.

"Idiot girl," he said finally, waving his hand in disgust. "Go home."

Mila beamed at him and bolted out the door. She ran through the alley, setting her pace to a hobbling walk when she reached the street.

"What now?" she whispered.

* * *

><p>Canada, Elizabeth and Emma sat around Canada's kitchen table, each with a mug of coffee, Emma in a long-sleeved Tim Horton's T that hung loosely on her. Canada's laptop sat in front of Emma. She scrolled through news article after news article with open mouth, moving between tabs in her haste to absorb as much as possible.<p>

"Civil war?" she whispered. "Oh, god."

"I'm so sorry that I didn't tell you right away!" Canada said with a whispered wail.

"What happens when a country is in a civil war?" Emma asked, looking from Elizabeth to Canada.

"It's like being really sick, I think," Canada said, looking up with his knuckles to his mouth. "At least, America was really sick."

"It's more than that," Elizabeth said dully. "They feel like they're being torn up from the inside. Actually, you should know." She pointed at Emma's necklace. "Can't you feel it sometimes? You should, when he's feeling at his worst."

"My coughing spells?" Emma said, aghast. "He feels like that _all the time_?"

"Oh, no!" Canada gasped, his eyes shining from wetness. "I really SHOULD have given America the larger gift basket! I gave him the small one because I was still a little peeved about 1812, but...but if I had known..."

"I have to get back to him," Emma said firmly, closing the laptop. "He can't go through all that all alone!"

Canada and Elizabeth exchanged glances.

"My dear, please understand," Elizabeth said soothingly, "the man who is the country in peril is no more safe than the country in peril is. They can become terribly erratic."

"Very mean!" Canada said, nodding. "And cross! And...and not on their best behavior! And especially with Russia, it's -"

"Russia is a very particular case," Elizabeth cut in. "You see he has a tendency to...to..."

"To go insane," Canada whispered, nodding.

Emma sat back and furrowed her brows.

"What?"

"Completely insane," Canada continued. "Out of his mind with despair, maybe, or disappointment, or all that pulling apart inside if Elizabeth's right cracks him. I haven't been around long, but even I have seen him do some pretty terrible things."

"From what I hear," Elizabeth said primly, "those terrible things aren't always at the behest of his bosses."

"I've heard the same thing!" Canada squeaked. "He does whatever he wants! It's crazy!"

"I don't care," Emma said, crossing her arms. "I'm going to Russia, and that's final. Unless you're going to force me to stay here with you."

Canada's face fell.

"I wouldn't do that," he said sadly. "I just don't want you to get hurt. Also, I'm unsure if anyone will let you in Russia. I mean, he and his border states are closed off right now, and everyone else is...well, they're kind of okay with the idea of holding you against your will..."

"Fantastic," Emma grumbled.

Canada perked up.

"I may know one person!" he said, jumping up from his chair and putting on his coat. "I'll be right back!"

And he was gone.

"How do they do that?" Emma said, looking at the place Canada once inhabited. Elizabeth shrugged.

"They can go where ever their country people are, I think," Elizabeth said. She leaned in on Emma. "Actually, I'm glad for the time alone. I have something for you."

She reached into her pocket and pulled out the small bottle of deep red liquid and set it in front of Emma. Emma stared at it and cocked an eyebrow.

"What is this?"

"The potion that made your charm," Elizabeth said, pointing at the necklace. "Emma, the nations are long lived, powerful, and not used to mortality. They see us, humans, and think they know the best for us. Or think we are chattel. Or think we are pieces in an elaborate game. We are, of course, whatever they make of us while at the same time we are our own people." She tapped the wax seal of the bottle. "This represents both the best and the worst of the nations. Drink this, and you are permanently linked to Russia for the rest of his life. You will not age or die until he does, and injury will be eventually healed. There is no antidote, it will simply be your life."

Emma stared at the bottle. She reached out and brushed the base with her fingertips.

"Why didn't Russia give it to me?" she said, looking up at Elizabeth.

"Because he didn't know how it worked," Elizabeth said with a smile. "The man who gave it to him, England, lied and told him that the talisman you wear is the only thing that can be created with the potion. He also lied and said that only Russia can remove it."

Emma grasped the charm and frowned.

"Russia gave this to me thinking that he was the only one who could reverse its effects?"

"Correct," Elizabeth said, nodding. "England wanted to give you an out."

"An out?"

"Emma, longevity can be quite...difficult," Elizabeth said sadly. She looked down at the table. "You witness the deaths of nearly everyone you love. Everything you know changes or crumbles away. The world changes, the languages that are most well known change. Living can be difficult if you wish to be independent of the nations, and it is becoming increasingly difficult to fake an identity for any given amount of time. And don't get me started about the Internet and privacy!" She shook her head. "Do you know there are sites that have my picture on them, with crackpot theories about how I'm some magical, long lived being?"

Emma cracked a grin for a moment before her smile drooped.

"So, Russia would have let me face that without choosing?" she said, staring at the charm.

"He did what he thought was best," Elizabeth said with a shrug. "And so did England. Both of them were foolish." She slid the potion closer to Emma. "YOU should have the choice between any of the options. You can, if you wish, take off that necklace, escape back to Australia and slip into obscurity. You could wear that necklace until it wears out and falls from your neck, causing you to age once more, normally. Or, you could take the plunge and link yourself to Russia for as long as he lives. Whatever the choice, dear, it should be yours to make."

Emma stared at the bottle, biting her lip. She ran her hands through her curls.

"Why are you giving me this choice?" Emma said crossly.

"Because I didn't have the pleasure," Elizabeth said matter of factly. "England wasn't so keen to let his favorite Queen go."

Emma looked at Elizabeth, eyes wide.

"You're THAT -"

Canada burst through the door, beaming. Emma quickly snatched up the potion and shoved it in her pocket.

"I found someone who'll help you!" Canada said. "You don't mind flying out in a few hours, right?"


	19. Chapter 19

Emma slumped through the gate of the airport and into the main plaza, yawning and adjusting her backpack. She looked around at the groups of people greeting each other and hugging each other, trying to find her contact.

"Maybe he's outside," she murmured.

"No, I am right here."

Emma jumped and turned, finding a mop-headed blond in army fatigues standing behind her. He was in an at-ease position with his chin held high and an irritated look on his face. A little girl stood next to him, huddled near his arm, dressed in similar fatigues and haircut. She carried a leather satchel in her tiny hands.

"You are Emma, correct?" the man said. He held up his phone, the screen of which displayed the bedraggled picture of Emma. "The picture does match."

"Oh, come on," Emma said crossly, scowling at the image.

"I am Switzerland and this is my charge Lichtenstein," the man said, pocketing the phone.

Emma held out her hand.

"Pleased to meet you, and thank you so much for -"

"We haven't the time for pleasantries," Switzerland said curtly. He walked off with Lichtenstein in tow at a swift pace. Emma hurried to keep up. "We must have you on the same plane as the German Special Envoy in thirty minutes. We are lucky they stopped here for a quick diplomatic session on their way to Tbilisi."

"The special envoy?" Emma said, confused. "I'm not sure -"

Switzerland stopped short in front of a washroom.

"I had to make this plan up on short notice," he said. "Lichtenstein, the bag."

Lichtenstein held out her bag to Emma.

"I have a nice suit for you in here, as well as some paperwork for authenticity," she said shyly, with a blush. "And a pair of lensless glasses, because people with glasses look busy. And a chocolate bar, in case you want a chocolate bar."

Emma took the bag, looking questioningly at Switzerland.

"You shall board the plane as if you are an aid," Switzerland said curtly. "I will be with you at first, so that it looks legitimate. No one ever questions who accompanies a nation. But once you are seated, you are on your own. With luck, you will make it to Tbilisi with little hassle, and from there you can seek out Georgia. I have included both Euros and Lari in the satchel, just in case you face an emergency."

He paused in his explanation, and the three of them stood in silence for a moment.

"Well?" Switzerland said sternly. "What are you waiting for? Go change!"

"Oh, right, of course," Emma said, jumping into action. She scrambled into the washroom and found an empty stall. As quickly as possible she shuffled out of her coat, jeans and t-shirt and into a no-nonsense black pants, jacket, white blouse and black pumps. She stuffed her extra clothes in the back pack, fluffed her hair a bit and left the washroom.

"Back pack," Switzerland said. Lichtenstein held out her hand, and Emma passed it to her. Switzerland studied her for a moment.

"Acceptable," he said, turning on his heel and walking quickly off. "Lichtenstein, wait for me in the lobby."

Emma shouldered the satchel and wobbled off after Switzerland, stifling another yawn.

"Good bye!" Liechtenstein called, waving after Emma. "Good luck!"

Switzerland did not speak as he headed back to the gates, bypassing the security line. Emma nervously followed, but no one gave her a glance. He led her past the open gates, down a set of stairs and out a door that opened directly onto the tarmac. A small passenger plane sat with its stairs open and waiting for a group of suited, stern people to board. Switzerland joined this group, pulling Emma behind him. She yawned and looked up the stairs at the back of the heads of the aids and diplomats. A a straight-laced blond fellow stepped into the plane, glancing up at the sky as he did so. Emma choked on her yawn and ducked behind Switzerland.

"Germany is on this plane?" she muttered.

Switzerland glanced back at her.

"He is?" he said crossly. "Drat. He must be overseeing the diplomats. Try to avoid him if you can. Be vigilant!"

They stepped onto the plane, Switzerland pulling her to a set of seats near the middle and shuffling her towards the window.

"Take your papers out of your satchel," he murmured. "Look busy."

Emma did as she was told.

"What if one of them tries to speak to me?" she whispered. "I don't know any German."

"You will have to hope they don't speak to you in German, then," he answered curtly. "The plane is ready for liftoff. I must go." He eyed her sternly. "I would appreciate if you told know one what I have done. I have helped you as a favor to Canada, but I have no interest in Russia's conflict or your desire to join him. Is that understood?"

"Your secret is safe with me," Emma whispered as she shuffled purposefully through paperwork. "And thank you agai -" She looked up. He was gone. She shook her head.

The plane began to taxi. Emma yawned and continued to look at her paperwork purposefully, but her eyes began to droop. She leaned against the window and closed her eyes. She was asleep before the plane was in the air.

* * *

><p>Russia huddled under his blankets, coughing. The windows to his office had been replaced, but he still shivered as if the chill still seeped through them. He tossed and turned and finally threw off his blankets, slowly pulling himself up.<p>

"Tea," he sighed as he lumbered through the dining room to the kitchen. "If I cannot sleep, at least I can have tea."

He clicked on the kitchen light. Lyudmila was lying next to the island, her coat a makeshift blanket and her backpack propping up her head. She sat up quickly, jolted awake by the light. Russia and Mila stared at each other in mutual surprise.

"Please forgive me," Mila said quickly, drawing the coat around her. "I had no where else to go. My apartment may be watched, and mama and papa...I cannot endanger them..."

She trailed off, curling into a ball. Russia blinked slowly and smiled slightly.

"Tea?"

* * *

><p>The plane rolled to a stop. Emma snorfled awake at the sound of the passengers's hustle and bustle as they left the plane. She popped her eyes open and shook her head then yawned and stretched, her right arm brushing the person sitting next to her.<p>

"Oh, so -" she looked over and found Germany studying her sternly. "Ooh."

"Hat Ihnen Ihr Schlaf?"* he asked, crossing his arms.

"Uuuh, ja?" she replied with nervous smile.

"Und wer bist du?"**

"Ja," Emma said more confidently. Germany sighed and shook his head.

"Who brought you on the plane?" he said crossly. "You are not a country, yet no one notices you. Or your raucous snoring."

"Oh, of course," Emma said, nodding her head knowingly. "I can explain everything as soon as we deboard."

"We will sit here until you explain everything," Germany snapped.

"Okay then." She pulled her feet up on the seat, body bent double as she stepped across Germany's legs and hopped into the aisle. Germany yelped and grabbed at her, but she weaved through the people toward the front of the plane, rushing down the stairs. Germany leapt from his seat and chased after her, pushing people out of the way and taking the stairs two by two. They raced across the tarmac. Germany catching up with her as she ran through the entrance to the gates of the airport. He grabbed for her again, missed, and follow her up the stairs to the waiting lobbies of the gates. Emma glanced behind her as she ran through the alcove and barrelled into a woman with long, dark brown curls. Both women went flying, landing hard in a tangle.

"Ch'emi ghmert'i!" the woman cried out, pushing Emma off of her. Germany skidded to a halt in front of the fallen women.

"Georgia? Ich dachte, wir wären in deinem Haus zu Treffen."***

"Megona, ik'neba es lamazi shekhvdeba ak'," Georgia said, standing and dusting herself off. "Me ar vits'i me t'avs daeskhnen."****

"I'm really, terribly sorry," Emma said, standing and and preparing to run.

"Wait, please!" Georgia said, grabbing Emma by the arm. "You have an Australian accent!" She looked at Germany. "Is this Russia's plaything?"

Germany shrugged and blushed.

"I do not know, but it would make sense," he said. "Sort of. I still have no idea how she got on the plane. I didn't see anyone..."

"Plaything?" Emma said, angrily trying to yank her arm from Georgia. Georgia barely registered Emma's attempts to release herself.

"I thought she was still in Russia somewhere," Georgia said, eyeing Emma critically. "It's all over the papers internationally. The one missing student, the one who wasn't sent home...her mother was in a tizzy, as I recall."

Emma stilled herself.

"Really?" she said, aghast. "Oh, god, I'm famous? I'm a famous missing person?"

"China picked her up somewhere and handed her off to America," Germany said, furrowing his brows. "That was the last I had heard of her."

"Listen, can you two stop talking about me as if I wasn't standing in front of you!" Emma snapped loudly. "And let me go!"

Germany and Georgia looked down on Emma, one cross, the other concerned. Georgia let her go. Emma rubbed her arm and set her jaw.

"I'm sorry," Georgia said quietly. "That was rude of me. Please don't run again, I won't bite. And neither will Germany."

Germany rolled his eyes.

"Listen, I'm just trying to get back to Russia," Emma said, backing away from Georgia a bit. "I saw what's going on and...I have to... I was told you may be able to help me."

"What, go into a war zone?" Germany said, irritated. "Out of the question!"

"Why not?" Georgia said with a shrug.

"What?" Germany sputtered. "Russia is falling apart at the seams! It is completely unethical to -"

"Germany, speaking of ethics, I heard about China's little attempt to use this girl as currency," Georgia said, her voice low and scornful. "And I heard that all of the members of the G8 were in attendance."

"I - yes, well..."

"Let the young woman decide for herself what she wants," Georgia said. "We are meeting Russia in a couple of days, and we will bring her with us."

Germany sputtered for a moment before going completely calm, standing up straight and brushing down his coat.

"Fine," he said, cutting his hands through the air. "I wash my hands of the whole affair. Let the girl die in a ditch in the Red Square for all I care!"

Emma sagged in relief.

"Thank god," she said. "I am so tired of running."

* * *

><p>"I am impressed with your work," Russia said, handing Lyudmilla a mug and leaning against the island, looking down on where she sat on the floor.<p>

"I don't know what you mean," Mila said flatly, blowing over the surface of her tea before taking a sip.

"Suit yourself," Russia said with a shrug.

Mila stared at her hands.

"I wanted to help," she said. "We were preparing to attack the Kremlin. We failed."

"You bolstered the opposition," Russia said. "And took care of the Duma building, if not the actual Duma. That seemed to do the trick."

"So you are on our side, then?" Mila looked up at him hopefully. He cocked his head at her and smiled.

"What is a side?"

Mila snorted.

"Suit yourself," she echoed. She sighed and set the tea on the floor. "Ivan, I get the impression that you are quite important. Every time before when I met you, it was a confusing fuzz. Now, I can see clearly, but everything inside is jumbled. I feel angry, and sad, and hopeful, and, and..." she shook her head. "I can't quite place it."

Russia slipped down the side of the island and joined her on the floor. He patted her shoulder.

"You hurt people. And you did it for Russia. And it hurts you that you did it for Russia. How can you do anything but see me as I am?"

Mila's chin wobbled.

"And who are you, Ivan?" she said, her voice cracking. "Did Emma know?"

"She does," Russia said. Mila perked up.

"_Does_? Than she is okay?"

Russia's face fell.

"I do not know."

"Oh."

They were both silent for a moment. Mila took a deep breath.

"Ivan, I think -"

Russia seized. His eyes widened. He began to cough violently. Mila got up on her knees and rubbed his back. Eventually his coughing tapered off. He wheezed, blood flaking his lips. Mila held up her tea. Russia gulped it down.

"What happened?" Mila said, panicking a bit. She felt his head. "My God, you are burning! You are severely ill!"

"Yes," Russia said, his eyes flashing. "The opposition is attacking Moscow."

* * *

><p>Germany refused to join Emma and Georgia in their ground journey to Moscow.<p>

"Well we can't very well fly into Moscow at the moment," Georgia said. She motioned at Emma. "And she isn't capable of traveling at our speed."

"I am not spending two days on a road trip," Germany said crossly. "YOU can escort her. This is YOUR stupid idea, after all."

Georgia managed to befuddle a driver and scrounge up an old passenger van.

"I'm sorry we can't travel with a little more style," Georgia said, ushering Emma inside. "But not

many will part with a decent car if it's heading into unsavory territory."

"You can futz with someone so that they can drive us, but you can't futz with someone enough to give up their _car_?" Emma said incredulously as she made herself comfortable on the worn cloth seats.

"That is correct," Georgia said thoughtfully. "Odd, isn't it?"

Exhausted, Emma slept for most of the first leg of the trip, waking for pit stops and to check in at the desolate Inn where they stayed the night before sinking back into sleep. The second day did not pass so easily. She fidgeted, fully rested and impatient to reach her destination.

"We will be there soon enough," Georgia said, amused. "Though I haven't a clue what you think you will do when we get there."

"I don't know!" Emma said, throwing up her hands. "I had an idea, but...and I know that Russia is supposedly crazy..."

Georgia's eyes flashed.

"Who said that?"

"Canada," Emma said, leaning against her window. "Something about Russia going insane."

"He is not insane," Georgia said gravely. "It took quite a lot to break that man, and quite a lot to bring him back."

Georgia shuddered.

"You would know if he was insane," she said. "He is a different creature. Like a giant child. Both jovial and morose. Both capable of great good and monstrosity. And most terrifying, capable of doing whatever he wishes without a care of the ramifications."

She looked down at her hands.

"There is a reason a nation follows the lead of his bosses and people. Without the leaders and without those calling themselves by a nation's name, a nation ceases to exist. Acting against the leaders and people burns, cuts him up from the inside as if he ate glass. If he follows too much of his own, thoughtless will, he will tear himself asunder. There will be no more people who wish to go by his name, and no leaders wishing to lead him. And he will die most painfully. I wonder, in the worst of his madness, if Russia did not mind the pain."

She shook her head.

"Russia is certainly caught. Neither the opposition nor the President's party are giving any ground. He may be torn apart in that way, but I doubt this effort has broken Russia. He coordinated much of it himself, after all."

Emma looked up.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, he was the one who warned us that there would be an attack," Georgia said simply. "He gave us the date, let us know the level of the attacking force...are you all right?"

Emma's eyes grew large as Georgia spoke and her mouth dropped.

"You mean, he told everyone that an attack was coming?" she said. "But - I thought he had to do what his boss tells him -"

"Specific instructions, yes," Georgia said calmly. "But the rest of the time, he can work within the will of the people. Apparently more than enough people were against the border attacks that he could work around his boss's orders."

"His boss knew," Emma whispered, clutching at her necklace. "The boss knew he was cheating. That's why I was taken! I was the carrot. And Russia...Russia didn't want to stop your counterattack, so..." She gave Georgia a crazed look. "So he had me killed."

Emma went silent. Georgia remained quiet for a moment.

"I am unsure what you are saying," Georgia said slowly. "But you cannot mean that you expected Russia to put your well-being in front of that of his people."

"Of course not!" Emma snapped. "I'm just tired of being a pawn! I've been bait, and ransom, and a bartering chip, and I'm tired of it! And...and..." she ran her fingers through her hair. "Oh, god, it will never end," she said flatly. "Never, never. So long as I live, because of my connection to Russia. They'll always hunt for me, won't they."

Georgia gave her a small smile.

"Perhaps so long as Russia is who his is now, yes," she said.

"And HE will use me, too," Emma murmured, looking down at the necklace and rolling the charm in her fingers. "When necessary, I'll become his pawn as well."

Georgia shook her head.

"If I know Russia, he never thinks of his loved ones as pawns," she said. "He merely does what he thinks is best, no matter the cost, and no matter if anyone else agrees with him as to what's best."

She brushed Emma's fingers from the charm and held it between her thumb and index finger.

"See? Right here is proof," she said. "He thinks of you as his Queen."

Emma looked glumly at the little white-gold queen. A flash of an idea pierced her mind. Her eyes grew wide and a grin curled on her lips.

"You know, in chess, all the pieces are important, queen to pawn," she said, pushing Georgia's hand away gently. She dug into a pocket and pulled out the glass bottle with the red potion and held it in front of her, smiling. "And all of them can be sacrificed."

She pulled the latches on her window and forced it open.

"What are you doing?" Georgia said, alarmed as the cold February wind whipped around them.

Emma unstopped the bottle.

"I'm making a choice."

* * *

><p>*Enjoy your sleep?<p>

**And who are you?

*** Georgia? I thought we were meeting at your house.

****I thought it would be nice to meet you here...I didn't know that I would be attacked.


	20. Chapter 20

As dawn filtered through the windows of Russia's office, the sound of gunfire echoed in the distance. Russia sat on the floor, leaning against his bed with his eyes closed. From time to time he wiped a sleeve across his sweat-dappled, fevered brow. Lyudmila slept fitfully in his bed, flinching and shuddering under the covers. He opened his eyes suddenly, clenched his teeth and grabbed his chest.

"Called so early in the morning," he murmured.

He shook Lyudmila's shoulder. She jerked awake, her eyes shining in confusion.

"Mila, I must go," Russia said as he stood. "Do not turn on any lights. Go to an interior room. If you hear anything, anything at all suspicious, hide. Understood?"

Mila nodded and narrowed her eyes.

"Where are you going in your condition?" She said reproachfully. "You should be in bed. Hell, you should be in the hospital!"

Russia smiled.

"I am working on the cure, Mila."

* * *

>A checkpoint blocked the road to Moscow outside Vostryakovo. The driver stopped on the side of the deserted highway when he saw it ahead and refused to go on, even with Georgia's cajoling. Georgia sighed.<p><p>

"Go," she said, slightly irritated. "Find somewhere safe to stay until I return."

The driver's eyes glazed over and he nodded dumbly before climbing out of the van and walking off.

"You're just going to let him wander in some strange place?" Emma said, aghast.

"If he does not trust me to keep him safe, then he will have to do as he will," Georgia said as she climbed into the driver's seat and put the van into gear. "Besides, he will be fine. He's a little older, so he will know Russian."

They trundled past the checkpoint without any notice from the guards. Two more checkpoints, one in Domodedovo, the other a true military blockade before Moscow proper, were equally easy to breeze through. The going was more bumpy the further in Moscow they traveled. They passed a firefight at one point, soldiers ducking and dodging through buildings as if playing a game of tag. Emma lowered her head, breathing quickly at the sound of gunfire.

"Whose checkpoints did we pass earlier?" Emma said as they passed the groups of soldiers defending and attacking, growing ever nearer to the center of the city. "The opposition or the government's?"

"Does it really matter?" Georgia said, distracted as she wound by a park and over the river, passing soldiers on watch for an assault. She tsked. "We will be late for the meeting."

She wound through deserted streets, every window boarded up or covered with dark curtains. Georgia skidded through the center of the Red Square and stopped at the entrance to the Kremlin.

"Okay, follow me," she said, putting the van into park and cutting the engine. "Stay close, and no one will notice you." She turned and looked Emma in the eyes. "Are you sure of this?" she said gravely.

Emma nodded firmly.

"Trust me."

* * *

><p>"So, you are here," the boss said to Russia as the nation lowered himself in a chair in the conference room. The boss smirked. "The opposition has disappointed you, then?"<p>

"They are coming, sir," Russia said quietly. He coughed a bit and sunk further into the chair. "I could hear their approach from home."

"They will be routed!" the boss snapped. "Reinforcements are already on their way from the border!"

Russia grinned.

"So you have given up on your land grab, then?"

The boss scowled.

"Tell the nations when they come that we respectfully retreat. That we _trust _them," he said the word trust with a touch of sickly sweetness, "_trust _them enough to respect our borders as we work through our minor internal issues."

The boss stood and walked to the door adjoining his office to the conference room.

"Call the others in, Russia," he said sternly. "And remember, I am listening. I want no indication from you to them that you are in conflict."

Russia coughed then touched his knuckles to his flushed, sweaty forehead and smiled.

"I will be as silent as a portrait," he said.

* * *

><p>Georgia brushed down Emma's wrinkled, well-worn suit and tsked.<p>

"I am not sure what we can do about this," she murmured.

"How on earth did you stay so put together?" Emma grumbled, eyeing Georgia's prim uniform. "We traveled the same distance!"

"Stay outside the room," Georgia said, taking Emma by the hand and leaning her next to the conference room door. "The meeting shouldn't be long, I don't think. Russia will bluster, the rest will argue. The boss is in the next room."

She opened the door, held a finger to her lips and slipped into a chair around the table, leaving the door ajar.

"Finally you arrive!" Germany snapped. "What took you so long?"

"A small, insignificant issue," Georgia said, eyeing Germany in warning. Germany nodded at her curtly and looked away.

"I do not understand the issue," Russia said quietly, his voice rasping. "The border will be clear. There will no longer be a perceived threat. We are all at peace. Why are we still discussing this?"

"It's about YOU Russia!" Estonia snapped. "Look at you! A complete mess. Can you guarantee that you're next regime won't attack again when this conflict is over?"

"I also am waiting for the other shoe," Latvia said nervously.

Russia glanced at the boss's door, and shrugged.

"This is not the issue," Russia said blandly.

"It is totally, most definitely the issue," America said, tapping his fingers on the table. "I mean, you're either gonna go back to normal, or go back to the OTHER normal where you're all whacked up! I can't just, like, pick up and leave if my buddies are gonna be threatened by wacko normal you!"

"Do you have any idea what direction your internal conflicts are going?" Germany asked sternly. "Is there any indication? We must prepare ourselves if -"

"Prepare yourselves?" Russia smiled slightly. "You already expect the worst, yes?"

The nations glanced between each other.

"I don't think that's exactly what Germany meant," Georgia said softly. "Frankly, it will be a help if you can simply tell us how you are doing. How you feel. We can draw our own conclusions from there."

Russia chuckled, which turned into a cough, and looked at each nation at his table in turn.

"I am _fine_," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "You see that for yourself, don't you? No need to ask me how I am doing." He fixed his gaze on Georgia. "Draw your conclusions from that."

Georgia's lips thinned.

"We were here to meet about the border conflict," Russia said with a smile, every word like stone. "As of now, there is no border conflict. Go home."

"Russia -" Germany began.

"GO." Russia said, slamming his palms on the table. The nations hesitated a moment before following Russia's request.

"This isn't over," America said as he exited. He turned and ran into Emma. His mouth dropped. "Wha -?"

Emma clapped her hand over his mouth and placed a finger over her lips.

"I am begging you not to say anything," she whispered as Germany and Latvia left the room. America cocked an eyebrow and looked at Germany, who shrugged.

"I remember you!" Latvia said quietly as Georgia and Estonia joined the group in the hallway. "What on earth are you doing here?"

Emma stepped away from America and smiled at the group.

"I'm putting myself into play."

She slipped through the door. The nations looked at each other and made for the door.

"No!" Georgia blocked their way and closed the door behind Emma. "Wait."

Russia sat with his head in his hands, coughing. Emma slipped around the table, trembling a bit, reached out a hand and brushed her fingers through Russia's damp hair. Russia started and looked up. Shock etched his features, then joy.

"Emma!" he whispered, staggering to his feet. He placed a hand on her disheveled curls and brushed it down her cheek. "My god, I thought... how -?"

"You were right, it kept me safe," Emma said, running a finger over the chain of her necklace. "For a certain modicum of safe, anyway."

Russia placed both hands on the sides of her head, pressing her curls down, and gave her a long, fevered kiss.

"You have no idea how worried -" his face dropped. He looked up at the door to his boss's office. The boss stood there, furious. He disappeared into his office. "You must leave, Emma. Now."

"I absolutely refuse," Emma said, furrowing her brow and pushing Russia's hands gently away. "You used me Russia, and I'm not very appreciative of that."

"We can discuss it later," Russia said quickly, taking Emma by the hands and pulling her toward the door. Emma jerked away.

"We can discuss it now!" Emma snapped. The boss reappeared in the doorway holding a handgun and placing his fingers to his lips. He mouthed the words _stay silent!_ just as Emma unclasped her necklace and held it up. Russia's face went still, his eyes wide.

"How did you - ?" His features went black and his eyes flashed. "England."

"I love you very much, Russia," Emma said firmly. "But I have become a means to an end for the other countries AND for your boss. I'm a danger, both to you and to myself, and I won't have it!"

She held out the necklace to Russia. Behind her, the boss shook his head as he slowly approached her. Russia shivered, trying desperately to raise his hands, to say something. Sweat poured from his temples.

"Emma," he choked. "Please -"

"I am being serious, Russia," she said sternly. "Or would you have me be strapped to your side forever so that no harm comes to me."

"PUT THE NECKLACE BACK ON!" Russia roared. Emma jumped back in surprise.

"What?"

The boss placed the barrel of the gun against Emma's temple. She blanched.

* * *

><p>The gunfire was all around the manor now. Lyudmilla huddled in a corner in the pantry, breathing quickly. There were a few crashes as the windows were shot out and soldiers swarmed the interior.<p>

"God protect me," she whispered. "God protect the people. God protect Russia."

The pantry door flew open.

* * *

><p>"Okay," Emma whispered, shaking. "Okay. Okay."<p>

Russia reached for her.

"Stay still!" the boss snapped. "You will do nothing to help her, and you will stay in this room and listen to me!So this is your little girl?" the boss sneered, examining the trembling Emma. "Not terrible, though why you didn't settle for a good Russian girl is beyond me."

"Please let her go," Russia said helplessly, staring sadly at Emma's pale face. The boss chuckled.

"It is too late for that, sir," he said jovially. "This girl was condemned to death weeks ago!"

He glared at Russia.

"Only your defiance has kept her alive."

"Please, not like this," Russia said, reaching out a hand and brushing it through her curls, his eyes blank.

"Yes, like this!" the boss snapped, putting on a wild grin. "I am so close to victory, Russia! The opposition is running through the streets like children at a game of tag, picked off one by one! The armed forces come from the border, ready to end this farce of an uprising! Soon, I shall be your supreme leader!"

"Yes," Russia said faintly. "You will be. So what is one girl?"

"She. Is. Everything," the boss said, pressing the barrel into Emma's temple. "She is the very representative of your defiance! Your betrayals! She is a reminder of your disgusting behavior!"

The boss narrowed his eyes and his lips curled as he ran his free hand over Emma's head. Emma shuddered.

"Actually, she does remind me of one thing: the joy I will have when I am in full power and I can see you locked away in a cell for the rest of my days. I will revel in your confinement, Russia! I will watch the chains latch you to the wall and feel a pang of joy as the door hides you from view. You. Will. Be. Mine!"

The boss smiled down at her.

"Besides, the little foreign slut has a point. She is a liability."

"Russia," Emma said, her voice low and shaky. "I'm so -"

The boss pulled the trigger.


	21. Chapter 21

Lyudmila uncovered her eyes. A soldier stood at the door of the pantry, a vacant expression on his face. His rifle hung loosely off his shoulder.

"This isn't...right," he muttered, and disappeared from view. Mila cocked her head, stood slowly and poked her head out of the pantry. The sound of crashing had silenced, and a few soldiers milled around the kitchen, glancing at each other with confused expressions. They filed out the kitchen door and into the morning air. Lyudmila followed the soldiers around the manor and to the street. Groups of soldiers, both opposition and government, wandered through the streets, heading steadily north. Mila ran to a cross street. More people streamed to the street, joining the soldiers in their wandering. She ran through the growing crowd, following their direction. As she passed, she heard people muttering:

"This is not...I don't think...why are we...It can't be..."

As she ran, she realized that the crowd was heading toward the river.

"No, the Red Square," she murmured.

As one, the crowd stopped moving. Mila stumbled to a halt and looked around at the crowd, all faces blank, all turned toward the square. She shivered and kept running, weaving through the silent, still people. She reached the river and crossed the bridge, pushing through the tightly packed people.

Suddenly, as as one, the crowd rushed the Red Square, gathering around the Kremlin. Mila was pushed forward by the current of people. She fought her way through and to the safety of the stairs to St. Basil's Cathedral. She stared in awe as the people climbed over one another and over the gate to the grounds of the Kremlin.

* * *

><p>Russia did not flinch as blood sprayed across the table. He was still as stone as he watched Emma's body slump to the ground. The nations forced their way through the door at the sound of the gun, but stopped far behind Russia at the sight of the splatter and of Emma splayed on the ground.<p>

"Holy shit," America murmured.

The boss stepped on Emma's shoulder and rolled her onto her back. Her head lolled, and the wound leaked matter onto the carpet. Georgia covered her mouth and looked away. Russia was still as a statue as this happened.

"How untidy," the boss muttered, holding the gun loose in his hand. "Russia, take the body and throw it in the river, then clean up the blood. This was your mess. Pick it up."

Russia blinked and slowly lowered himself next to Emma. He reached out a hand and pushed her curls over the wound, then took his shaking hand away and stared at the blood.

"What are you waiting for?" the boss snarled. "Get rid of this trash and be quick about it!"

Russia chuckled a low, rolling laugh. A pointed grin stretched across his face.

"Russia?" Georgia whispered.

Slowly he turned his head and glared at the nations behind him with shimmering, shining eyes. Estonia and Latvia shrank back. Georgia winced.

"I told you," America muttered to Germany. "Wacked."

"I am losing patience!" the boss snapped.

Russia whipped his head around and stared up at his boss with his wild grin. He stood slowly and clenched his fists.

"You are?" he said, amused. "And who are you?"

"Do as I say at once!" the boss snapped.

Russia stepped over Emma's body.

"You did not answer my question."

"I am your leader and commander!"

"Ah." Russia's eyebrows rose. "Is that all you are?"

His eyes glittered. He stepped toward his boss. The boss, eyes wide, hands shaking, pulled the trigger of his handgun. The bullet ripped through Russia's chest. Blood spurted from the wound, soaking his white collar shirt and blue vest. Russia paused, shocked. There were gasps among the countries gathered in the door and along the wall.

"S_cheisse_," Germany muttered.

Russia's boss shot his nation again and again. Russia doubled over, hands grabbing for the holes punched through his body. He shuttered then chuckled. The chuckle bubbled up into a low, menacing laugh. He straightened, and staggered forward. The boss shot him again, but Russia took no notice, laughing harder and deeper, eyes glowing with violet fire.

"Stay back!" the boss snarled, hands shaking. "I command - !"

The roar of the crowd sounded from outside. The boss paused and cocked his head. Russia lurched forward, grabbed the boss's shirt and hauled him up in the air.

"You command no one, you sniveling pustule of a man!" he rumbled with his crazed, toothy smile. "You are a scab on the back of an ant! A sore in the mouth of a rabid dog! You think you are a dictator? A leader of men?"

He slammed his boss against the wall, rattling the light fixtures, and pressed his face close. The sound of shattering glass and crashing echoed around the building.

"I was starved and whipped by Ivan the Terrible for eight years!" he growled, grinding his teeth. "Alexander Nevsky sold me to the Mongols as a slave so that I would not be destroyed! I suffered madness for eighty years as the Tsars and the Premiers picked away at me! EVERY conqueror of Europe has attempted to end me and ALL have failed!" He slammed his boss into the wall again, and let the man go. The boss slipped down the wall to the floor.

"I AM RUSSIA!" Russia roared.

He leaned over and smeared his blood-coated palms over the cheeks of the sunken boss.

"You are unworthy to call yourself Russian, let alone carry Russian blood in your veins! Your rule is crumbling, yet I remain! The dogs come for you, you pitiful creature. What shall you do?"

Russia stepped back, his lips curling, breathing deeply, his arms hanging loose, blood dripping from his clothes and hands. The boss trembled, eyes wide, gaping at the towering nation. His shaking hand placed the barrel of the gun to his temple. Many of the nations gasped and closed their eyes as the boss pulled the trigger. Russia stumbled back into the table, gasping, clawing at his chest. He shuttered and fell to the ground.

Germany leapt toward Russia, shunting off his shirt.

"Quickly, give me another."

"The man just killed his own boss!" Estonia cried, his face pale and shocked.

"His boss killed himself!" Germany snapped as he ripped off one of his sleeves, balled it up and pressed it against one of the wounds. "It is quite a different thing!"

"Damn straight," America said, removing his own shirt and balling it up.

"You're helping, too?" Estonia said.

"Who do ya think is gonna replace him if he dies?" America said grimly. "Some nut ball warlord state. With big ass nuclear weapons."

Georgia nodded, stepped gingerly over Emma's body, and kneeled next to America and Germany, propping up Russia's head. Russia breathed heavily, looking blearily at the other nations. America and Germany's shirts were soon saturated.

"Jesus, it just keeps coming," America muttered. "Come on, you creepy weirdo, you can't die!"

Russia laughed weakly and coughed, blood speckling his lips. He winced and closed his eyes.

A stream of people pushed their way though Latvia and Estonia, still standing at the door.

"My God, what happened here?" one cried, ignoring the nations but looking from Emma's body to that of the boss.

"Evil creature," another sneered. He marched to the boss's body and kicked it. "Enemy of Russia!"

"Someone must let the Hidden Duma know!" the first cried. Others took up the cry, and it echoed down the hall and grew into a chant. "Hidden Duma! True Duma!"

Estonia covered his ears.

"Russians are a dramatic lot during their revolutions," he said crossly to Latvia.

"Quiet! Quiet!" people in the crowd began to cry. The crowd slowly hushed. In the distance, someone yelled, "He is being sworn in! He is being sworn in! The prime minister!"

Russia gasped. His eyes flew open and he sat up, holding his chest and wheezing. He dropped back a bit into the arms of America, Germany and Georgia. The crowd roared and pressed from the room to join the many, many people in the Square.

"So close, once again," Russia said, shivering, his eyes clear. He looked at the boss and shook his head. "Too close."

He staggered to his feet with the help of America and Germany.

"What happens now?" Latvia said hesitantly.

"Of course, he must go to his new president," Germany said with a curt nod. "He must rebuild, must reform, must create goals to prevent future power grabs, must re-establish diplomatic connections..."

Russia stepped to Emma's body, leaned over and scooped her up. Germany stuttered to a halt. Every nation stared at Russia as he walked toward the door.

"What are you doing, man?" America said hesitantly.

"Going home," Russia said simply.

"Russia, you have far too much to do right now!" Germany snapped. "She is dead. You must move on and do your duty!"

Russia paused at the door and looked back at Germany with a small, sad smile.

"Germany, my friend, you know how to say the truth in such a way that makes me want to strangle you."

He was gone.

"Well, THAT wasn't disturbing," America said with a shudder.

Germany shook his head, irritated.

"Someone tell Australia that Russia's holding the corpse of his missing girl," he said, storming from the room. "The creepy weirdo."


	22. Chapter 22

Russia kicked his way through the doors to the ballroom, holding both Emma and a bottle of vodka. He carried Emma to the sound system and gently laid her on the dusty wooden floor, arranging her head and curls so that her wound was hidden. Her eyes were open, blank, and he tried to close them without success.

"Why should you not see?" he murmured, shuffling off his bloodstain coat and throwing it over her body. He picked up the vodka and began searching through his albums.

"Ah, this one is a good one," he said, looking at her over his shoulder. "Ruslan and Lyudmila. You would have liked this one I think." He placed the record on the turntable and cracked open the bottle as the overture blared from the speakers. "You probably knew this one, actually," he said, sitting on the floor and leaning against the wall. He took a swig from his bottle. "It is Pushkin after all. I should have asked, but no time..."

He took another large gulp.

"That is the problem with you humans," he said, rolling the bottle in his hands. "Not enough time. You never see the long view, the results of your actions. If you had known, would you have taken off the necklace?" His voice grew angry. "You knew how the necklace worked, and yet you removed it! To make a point! Talking over me like...you stupid girl! Had I known you were capable of taking it off, but England -" he took a swallow, and slammed the bottle on the ground. "England! The son of a bitch! I will break his arms! I will -" his anger cooled suddenly into sadness.

"No, no. It was MY fault. From the moment you sat with me in the park, I knew there would be difficulties. You said there was always a catch. I knew...I knew if I befriended you, there would be death. I simply did not want to see it." He rubbed a hand over his face. "I should have ignored you. Avoided you. But...I was so alone, Emma. Do you see?" He stared at her for a moment, but she did not respond.

"I am used to being alone now, you know," he murmured. "I think we all are, we countries. We say we are friends, and we dance around each other, always watching and waiting for the knife in the back. Still, the only other option is befriending the country people, and... well, there are complications." He waved a hand at Emma's body. "As you know."  
>He sighed, picked up the bottle and drank.<p>

"There are the bosses, but most are difficult and all are just as short lived." He cocked his head thoughtfully. "Katerina was interesting, however. She did enjoy her dalliances as much as she enjoyed policy." He chuckled a bit. "Peotr, now HE was a ruler! Knew what he wanted the moment he was crowned! Not too much oppression, either. A little mad, but who isn't?" He was silent for a moment as he drank, thinking through his past. His brows shot up and he pulled the bottle away and lifted it in the air. "Olga! Oh, Olga, my fairest boss! I was so small, Emma, a tiny child grasping at my sister's skirts. Would you believe, Ukraine as warrior maiden?" He laughed. "But so she was! And Olga, she stole us from the warlords, took us in as her own. Killed a great many men to do it. Oh, they say Svyetoslav was the first ruler of Rus', but trust me, Emma, it was Olga who gave us the power! And you would have liked her; crafty, well-read, her sense of humor..." he trailed off. "But she is gone."

He set down the bottle and covered his face in his hands. Outside, the cheers of his people could be heard on every street, a celebration for every citizen. Even as the sky grew grey and thick with clouds and snow began to fall, the people were in good spirits. Their joy was infectious, and Russia could not keep his heart from rising. He scooped up the bottle, tipped it back until it was finished, and tossed it across the room. It smashed against the far wall, just missing the windows to the knarled garden.

"Enough of this," he said, waving his hands around, indicating the opera. He staggered to his feet, the drink hitting him, and pulled the record from the turntable. "I will play you everything, Emma! Give you a good send off. Something sweet, something...something...Ah! Gurchenko! She was WERY good with...the songs...Pyat Minut, ha! That...seems right, you think?"

The cheery, fast-moving New Years song played over the speakers, Russia nodding along.

"You see? It is about righting wrongs before the clock strikes. Before time runs out," he said loudly. The world around him blurred. He leaned against the wall and slipped down to the floor. "See why I think it funny? Ha!"

He shook his head slowly, and blinked.

"I may have had a little too much," he said before closing his eyes and passing out.

* * *

><p>America shook his head.<p>

"I said the deal's off," she said, waving his hands in front of him. "The girl's dead, and I'm not paying when the goods weren't delivered. I'm not a shnook."

China's lips thinned.

"We had an agreement," he said, his eyes narrowed. "You can't simply back out -"

"I can and I will," America said, standing from his spot on China's white couch and giving China a salute. "Catch ya on the flipside! Oh, and, I'm pretty sure my diplomatic team has something to say about the recent disappearances of your political dissidents. See ya!"

And America was gone. China, seething, grabbed his cellphone from the coffee table and dialed.

"Lan, America has backed out of his agreement," he said angrily. "I have a feeling that America would have been easier to bind if you had not lost our charge in the sea!"

"Darling, I can't fight against pure spunk," Lan said from the deck of their yacht, sunning themselves off the Florida Keys, mai thai in hand. "The young lady leapt into the icy sea, my dear. Did you want me to follow her in?"

"Yes, in a word," China snapped.

"After I had moisturized? Really, you ask too much," Lan said with a pout.

"Well, it matters not anymore, since the girl is dead," China said scathingly.

Lan sat up straight.

"Dead? Are you sure about that?"

"America saw her body first hand," China said. "Let it be known that the next time I ask for a favor, I want it completed correctly, understood?"

"China, my love, go soak your head," Lan said sweetly. "See you in a few weeks?"

China sighed deeply.

"Of course." He hung up.

Lan immediately dialed their phone.

"Elizabeth, have you heard the news?" they said, distressed. "The little newbie has done gone and got herself killed!"

"What? You must be joking!"

Eyes darted toward Elizabeth who was sitting in a formal restaurant waiting for dinner to arrive. She ducked her head down.

"Are you sure?" she murmured.

"Heard from China himself," Lan said sadly. "Oh, Lizzy my dear, I wish you got to talk to her more than the once. She would have been a fun playmate!"

"Your Christmas Card list is ruined," Elizabeth said with a sigh. "Thank you for the news."

She closed her phone and looked up.

"So. Emma." she said with a frown. "She's dead."

England choked on his wine and coughed.

"Dead?" he said. "That can't be! The necklace!"

"She must have taken it off," Elizabeth said with a shrug.

"You just HAD to give her the potion," England whispered furiously. "So wonderful to show her all of her options! Oh, Russia will have my head. I'll be seeing my agencies simply flooded with Russian undercovers..."

"She obviously chose death, England. Stop being a prat," Elizabeth said crossly. "Really, our first get-together, we find out a girl is dead, and you carry on so?"

England patted his mouth with his napkin.

"Sorry, you are right, of course" England said firmly. "I just -"

His phone rang.

"Hello? Germany? Yes, actually, I did hear...from where? Uuuuh," he looked up at Elizabeth, who shook her head slightly. "America, of course. Yes! Yes, he does talk a lot. What? I don't see why I have to...commonwealth? But that doesn't mean...fine, I will."

He hung up.

"I must go," he said, irritated. "Must let Australia know the fate of his country person. Apparently Russia is camping over the poor girl's body. Reschedule?"

"Of course," Elizabeth said matter of factly.

He stood, nodded at Elizabeth, and left.

* * *

><p>Russia jerked awake, his head swimming. The ballroom was dark, silent. The moon reflected off the fallen snow, which lit what grounds that could be seen from the window in a ghostly blue hue. His rumpled, tented coat was a shadow on the ballroom floor. He shuttered and looked away, shaking his head. He was covered in a blanket, tucked up to his shoulders.<p>

"Lyudmila came back," he muttered, pulling it away as he stood. He staggered to his feet. "Let us hope she did not peek under the coat. Not quite yet."

Stood still for a moment, glancing at the shadow on the floor.

"I will be right back," he said. "I just need a little tea. You will grant me this, yes?"

He wandered out of the ballroom and down the hall, yawning and shaking his head to clear it. He passed the lobby and stairs, dark as they always were now, and wandered through his study and dining room. Light came from under the kitchen door, and he heard the clattering of dishware.

"I was right, she is back," he said, stretching and opening the door. "I would think you would go see your parents after -"

He stopped. A large pot was boiling on the stove. Vegetable cuttings were spread across the island, along with open bottles of beer and bloodied twine from a roast. Emma was sampling from the pot, shaking her head in irritation.

"More salt. Why do the potatoes always suck up all the salt?"

Russia fell inwards with the door, causing it to crash against the wall. Emma looked up as he righted himself on the door frame, leaning heavily against it, his face pale.

"You're awake!" she said with a wave. "It's very late, but I was starving, so I hope you don't mind that I took liberties with your pantry. Would you like some tea?"

"I -" He slipped down the frame, sitting heavily on the floor, hanging his head between his knees and covering his face with his hands. He began to laugh, weakly at first and then growing in power. Emma set the spoon down on the stove and ran to him, kneeling next to him.

"Russia, are you okay?" she said, placing a hand on his bloody, torn sweater. She poked a finger through one of the bullet holes. "It seems you've been through quite a lot."

Russia continued to laugh, removing his hands from his now flushed face. He placed one on Emma's head, threading his fingers through her curls, and with the other wiped away the tears from his eyes.

"Fox!" He finally wheezed out, his eyes dancing. "Do you know what you've done?"

Emma smiled and brushed the wet from his cheeks.

"I believe I finally got a checkmate."


	23. Chapter 23

Russia swept Emma up into a ferocious kiss, then pulled away and stood, picking Emma up and throwing her over his shoulder.

"What are you doing?" Emma cried out, laughing as he carried her through the dining room, turning on the lights as he went.

"Celebrating!" he said, throwing open the doors that led from the dining room to the lobby. "Everything should be in light!"

He set her down and threw a switch. The chandelier above the main entryway exploded to life, bringing the dust on the marble stairs and carved wooden banisters into sharp relief.

"Needs a bit of a touch up, doesn't it?" Emma said jokingly.

Russia placed his hands on her shoulders and touched her forehead with his.

"How did you do it?" he said, his eyes wide.

"There was this red liquid," Emma said.

"The potion! Ah, I KNEW England was not sharing its full properties!"

"Potion, alright. This woman, Elizabeth -"

Russia laughed, let go of her shoulders and took her hand.

"Elizabeth, of course! I wonder what she did to pry the potion from England's hands!" He led Emma up the stairs and turned on the lights for the top floor hallway.

"But it wasn't just that," Emma continued. "Everyone was going on about what a state you were in. I thought maybe a little push...goodness, so many rooms," Emma said, staring down the lengths of the hallways.

"Yes," Russia said, jogging with her in tow, throwing open the doors, turning on lights and revealing room after room of furniture covered in dusty sheets. "At one time every room had its purpose! Bedrooms, studies, parlors..."

"Who were they all for?"

Russia opened a door on a large room and turned on the light. He looked at Emma, smiling.

"My guests," he said. "My...charges."

Emma gaped at the room. At the ornate, hair-stuffed couches and chairs, the green and golden Turkish rugs on both wall and floor showing scenes of the hunt, the bookcases lining the wall, the windows that reached from floor to ceiling. She stepped inside, brushed a hand along the top of a couch, sat and picked up a piece from a carved ivory chess set on a small coffee table.

"It is so...opulent," Emma said, looking up at Russia. "And clean!"

Russia nodded and sat next to her.

"It is my favorite room," he said, looking around at floor, ceiling, table. "A leftover from when I lived at the Winter Palace."

"When did you live in St Petersburg? Oh, before the October Revolution, right?" Emma set down the chess piece and opened a carved wooden box next to the set. Within it was an oval locket, golden, with a set of sunflowers waving in the wind molded in relief.

"Oh, how beautiful!" She moved touch it. Russia pushed away her hands and closed the box.

"An old piece," he said with a smile, hand firmly placed on the lid. "Kept for remembrance."

Emma was still for a moment, hands handing in the air, her brows slightly furrowed. She reached under Russia's arm and picked up a book laying next to the box. She leafed through it a moment, then closed it and looked up at Russia, questioning.

"This isn't Russian," she said.

"It is Lithuanian," Russia said, taking his hand off the box and holding it out. Emma gave him the book and he set it carefully on the box. "A book of fairy tales. A reprint of something far older. Also kept for remembrance."

Emma cocked her head and narrowed her eyes.

"Who was this room for?"

Russia stood and pulled Emma off the couch, leading her to the door.

"Georgia," he said simply.

Emma's brows rose.

"I see," she said, giving the room a once over before they left. "Your favorite room, hm?"

"It has not seen use in decades," Russia said, continuing down the hallway.

"But the room is still well-kept," Emma said, glancing in the open doorways of barren rooms as she followed him. "Were your charges just Lithuania and Georgia? Or were all the countries that were part of your empire living with you at some time? And do you have bits of remembrance for everyone?"

"No, yes," Russia said, starting down the stairs. He stopped midway and looked up at her. "And no."

"I...see..."

Emma gripped the dusty banister and bit her lip.

"I thought I knew everything about you once I figured out who you were," she muttered. "But it's not as simple as just knowing your history, is it? There's more to it than that."

"Much of it was unhappy," Russia said, slowly ascending the stairs once more. "The house was full, but all cowered from me. I was their terror. And when I went mad -" he reached the top of the stairs and loomed over her, his eyes glittering a bit. "Lucky you. You have never seen me at my worst. What would you have done if your plan had not worked entirely? Your little push? If I had not been snapped free of insanity at the last minute?"

"So it did work then?" Emma whispered. "What happened?"  
>Russia brushed his stiff, bloodstained sweater.<p>

"What would you have done?" He repeated.

"Are you honestly telling me that you would lose it forever over the death of one woman? I mean, I didn't think he'd shoot me right THERE in front of you, but still!" Emma cocked her head. "Be truthful, Russia. Was it my death that flipped you, or the fact that you had no power to prevent it? And when you had the power...tell me, what happened next?"

Russia smiled but did not answer. They stared at each other a moment. Finally, he held out his arm. Emma grinned, stood up straight, put her nose in the air and placed her arm on his.

"You will know everything you wish, in time," Russia said as they descended. "We have all the time, now."

"Yes, I'm stuck with you it seems," Emma said with a laugh as they reached the lobby.

"All the time," Russia said, pulling her down the hall into the ballroom, flipping on lights as he went. "But I am no mood to revisit old memories today. Today I want to make new ones!"

He left her in the middle of the ballroom floor and ran to the sound system.

"You're not going to make me dance, are you?" Emma sighed.

"Oh, you will dance," Russia said, leafing through is albums. "You will dance, and possibly sing, as well. Did I tell you that I enjoy a good voice? Here!"

He placed a record on the turntable. Music blasted from the speakers, upbeat and driving. Emma laughed.

"Ochi Chernie? A celebration song?"

Russia swept her up, forcing her into the tempo of the song.

"It was once a happy song," he said. "A man who loved his dark eyed wife. It was a while before it involved heart-breaking passion for a gypsy girl. Will you stay with me, Emma?"

"I'll stay for a while," Emma agreed. She laughed as Russia pulled them in larger circles. "Why not? I need a bit of a break before I slip back into life!"

"And then what shall you do?"

"Back to the drawing board, of course."

"Of course. To become Professor Emma Gaverty, yes?"

"I wonder what it would be like, having tenure for a few hundred years," she said thoughtfully, stepping on one of Russia's feet. "Oooh, sorry."

"Only a few hundred?" Russia admonished.

"Well, stop having revolutions, and perhaps I'll have more faith in your longevity! Now, of course, you will have to visit me while I finish up in Australia."

"Without a doubt," Russia agreed.

"And meet my entire family! My aunt and uncle, my cousins, my mum..."

"I do not think I have ever met a 'mum' before," Russia grumbled.

"Oh good, a first for you! I assure you, it will be awkward and embarrassing."

"I look forward to it."

Russia slowed them to a stop as the song ended. He brushed his fingers through her curls, flakes of dried blood falling from her hair.

"I do love you, Emma," he said, smiling down at her.

"Good," Emma said with a grin. "Since I love you, too."

He leaned down for a kiss. There was a cough from the door. Emma and Russia looked toward the noise, surprised. A man with sandy hair, bright green eyes and hard-worn, khaki clothing leaned against the door frame. He gave the couple a slight wave.

" 'scuse the interruption, folks. I tried knocking, but nobody answered." He pointed at Emma. "You're a little more lively than I would've expected for a dead woman."


	24. Chapter 24

Emma slid a bowl of stew across the island to Australia, eyeing him suspiciously. Australia swallowed a spoonful and nodded enthusiastically.

"Not too shabby! Not that I'd serve this to the Queen or anything, but you academic types aren't really known for your cooking skills, eh?" He took another bite. "Certainly serviceable!"

Emma frowned and stirred her own bowl without taking a bite, staring at her nation.

"D'you go to national meetings dressed as a swagman?" she asked reproachfully.

"Hey, hey, no judgement," Australia said, looking down at his clothes and brushing the brim of his hat. "It's comfortable, and it's what they expect, right?"

"So you're the reason people think we all live in the bush?"

"Hey, sweetheart, I DO live in the bush," Australia said with a shrug. "When I'm not in Sydney, anyway. A lot less mess out in the bush."

"'Sweetheart'," Emma muttered, stabbing at potatoes with her spoon.

"You're not exactly the starry-eyed type, are you?" Australia said, disgruntled. "I usually don't get such a cold reception!"

"You have complicated her plans," Russia said mildly as he methodically ate his stew. "No nation is supposed to know that she lives."

Australia cocked a brow.

"Is that so?" He glanced between Russia and Emma. "And why on earth is that, then?"

Emma scooped up a piece of meat and blew on it, then sighed and let it slip from the spoon and fall in the bowl with a plop.

"They had me on the run, the other nations," she muttered. "All because I fancy Russia. I had to do something, didn't I?"

A smile creeped over Australia's face.

"So you faked your own death," he said, nodding his head. "Clever! Now the whole world thinks your dead, and you can sit back, relax -"

"Go back to a normal life," Emma continued. "Maybe finish up my degree..."

"Wait, wait, wait." Australia shook his head and furrowed his brow. "What d'you mean, finish your degree?"

"Well, I can't just let that hang forever, can I?" Emma ran a hand through her curls and propped her head on the island. "It's always been something I wanted."

Australia's smile twisted a bit. He pulled his phone from his pocket and began clicking through the menu.

"Listen, right. I'm here because I just got an earful from England about how I needed to tussle with Russia over your body. For my own good, of course." He rolled his eyes. "But I was planning on a visit anyway. I mean, what with all the international noise, I knew I'd have to step forward and do something."

Emma furrowed her brows.

"International noise?" A memory sparked in her brain. "Wait. Is this about me being a missing person? Georgia said something, but I didn't have the time..."

"Oh, you could say it's about you being a missing person," Australia said. He handed his phone to Emma. "THIS is supposed to be you."

She looked at the picture on the screen and immediately looked away.

"Holy Christ, why did you show me that?" she said, gagging. "Who sent you that?"

"No one sent me the image," Australia said, taking back his phone. "One of the crowd that crashed the Kremlin snapped that on his way out of the room. Might not have noticed it, on account of you being dead and all."

"Wait, has this been floating around online, then?" Emma whispered. "Oh, my God. My mum must be frantic!"

"Frantic? Frantic?" Australia laughed in disbelief. "Girlie, she thinks you're dead. The WHOLE WORLD thinks you're dead! They identified you with old pictures, see, and put two and two together with you being missing..."

Emma grew pale.

"...oh, ho, so you really aren't in the know! Your mum is a national hero right now! Daughter caught up in the January Revolution (that's what they're calling it 'round us), Russia's president shooting her down before killing himself. Some are saying you were a spy, though of course, my special forces are denying it. Your mum may sue the government for damages! Russia, you should have told her. I mean, your own new president..."

Russia shook his head, not looking up from his bowl.

"I have not been to see him," he said slowly. "I was not...ready..."

Australia's mild amusement snapped to annoyed shock.

"But...your OWN PRESIDENT named Emma one of the victims of the Revolution! This girl, Lyudmila Preshentko, said Emma was intimately involved with the opposition! Stolen away in the night, she says! She's been giving interviews left and right, and now that the body's gone missing, her story's gaining some ground -"

"So that's why Mila hasn't come back," Russia murmured. "Too busy."

"Oh, my God, this isn't happening," Emma groaned, covering her face with her hands.

Australia threw up his hands.

"Are you really this oblivious, Russia? We're talking America levels of not knowing your own business! Christ! Now, I don't blame HER of course, as she's still healing from a massive head wound, but YOU -"

"I have to call my mother," Emma said desperately. "I have to let her know I'm okay!"

She whipped her hands from her face and held her hand out to Australia with a pleading look.

"No." Russia gently pushed down her hand. "Emma, she believes that you are dead. What do you think she will do if she receives a phone call from her supposedly dead daughter?"

"You're right, I need to go home," she said with a firm nod. "After everything calms down, I'll fly home."

"On a dead woman's passport?" Russia said quietly.

"Then sneak me on board!" Emma snapped. "Switzerland did it, so you can too, right?"

"Yes, it is possible," Russia said. "But you have missed the point."

Emma paused and furrowed her brows at her stew.

"The whole world thinks I'm dead. Even the country people," she said, her cheeks flushing. "I can tell my mum, but if anyone else finds out I'm alive...even in my own country..."

"A big news story," Russia continued.

"And my cover is blown," Emma finished. "All the Nations will also know I'm alive. I'm right back where I've started."

Australia dropped his spoon into his empty bowl and slid it away.

"If you want to keep quiet about your being alive, easiest thing to do is come back home with me," he said with a shrug. "Slip into the crowd and no one'll know the difference. We can tell your mum something to keep her...ah, mum, heh. A quick name change, and you're golden!"

"So I'll live hidden away," Emma said furiously. "Trapped in your borders for God knows how many years. A hundred? A thousand?"

"Whooooaaah, wait a minute," Australia said, holding up his palms. "There's something in play right now that the two of you aren't telling me. A thousand years?"

Russia and Emma glanced at each other. Emma stared down at the island while Russia smiled at Australia with a small flush in his cheeks.

"You know Elizabeth, yes?" Russia said quietly.

"You mean, Elizabeth, Elizabeth?" Australia smiled. "Of course! Loves to chat. Visited me a few times now. Loves my coasts, she says. Always asks the strangest questions. Never gets boring with old Elizabeooooh, I see what you're trying to say, here!" He pointed at Emma. "You're another Elizabeth? As in, doesn't look a day over four hundred?" He shook his head and chuckled. "Oh, are you in a fix!"

Russia smiled at Australia toothily, then stretched out a hand and ran it through Emma's hair.

"You can stay here with me," he said firmly, smiling softly. "Let the world know that you live. I will protect you."

"Yeah, 'til the next Revolution," Australia said, rolling his eyes. Russia shot him a fiery look. "What? You aren't being very practical, is all. You can't pack her away forever, right? What, is she gonna wander the halls of your busted up palace for the next umpteen years? You think people won't notice that you have a new resident at home? Won't try to pack her up again?"

Emma looked up at Russia, lips thin, brows together.

"He's right," she said coolly. "I'm back at square one. Either be a hermit, or be used as bait for the rest of my life. And this time, I don't get an out."

Emma glowered into her bowl, cheeks flushed.

"This can't be happening!" She screamed, picking up the bowl and throwing it in the sink. It shattered, scattering globules of stew across the counter top and onto the floor. She kicked the island multiple times, then set her elbows on the surface and sunk her head in her hands. Australia looked at Russia with raised brows.

"I can see now why YOU would be into HER," he said, motioning his head at the seething Emma. "Still not quite sure what she sees in you, though, mate."

He prodded Emma's shoulder. She swatted his hand away.

"Not much like Elizabeth at all," he muttered. "I don't think I've ever seen that woman out of sorts." He flashed a grin at Russia. "She visited you, too then? Ha! That must bend ol' England's nose out of shape!"

Russia hesitated a moment before replying, keeping an eye on the rigid Emma.

"England was not pleased when he found out," he said. "She is indeed very cordial. very inquisitive." Russia smiled faintly. "She asked me how to dance the scarf dance. Wanted to know my favorite foods and how to prepare them. Quizzed me about my history. It was all very strange."

"Hey, it was the same for me!" Australia said, pushing the brim of his hat up. "Lots of, oh, I've never seen a kangaroo, are they dangerous? Mmm, pavlova is delicious! Can you take me to a play?"

"An obvious attempt at flattery," Russia said, raising a brow.

"No doubt," Australia said with a shrug. "But it worked for me! It was fun!"

"I...did miss the talks," Russia said thoughtfully. "Everyone else who lived with me at the time was very cold. Or afraid. Or did not like Russian literature. When Elizabeth came to visit, she made things very lively. Even Chechnya..." Russia shook his head. "Well. She was there, and then she was gone one day as quick as that."

"Oy!" Emma shot looks of fire at the reminiscing nations. "Would you two wrinklies stop talking about some old woman and help me -" her eyes glazed over and grew wide. "Wait a moment. Elizabeth visited you both?"

"She's been by me dozens of times, sure," Australia said with a shrug.

Russia hunched a bit.

"She visited once," he murmured. "It was a lengthy visit, however."

Emma narrowed her eyes at Russia.

"You knew England had a thing for Elizabeth, yes?" She said sweetly. Russia gave her a half shrug. "Yes. And you and England aren't exactly...friends? Haven't been for a while?"

"Tell me your thoughts," Russia said with a small smile. "Your stall is annoying."

"Fine then." Emma folded her hands. "Why, my dear Russia, have you never attempted to kidnap Elizabeth and use her as a bargaining chip against England?"

Australia and Russia began to chuckle.

"What's so funny?"

"You think I did not try to keep her when she was here?" Russia said with a smile. "Such a prize!"

"The girl has more tricks up her sleeve than Houdini," Australia said, pulling down the brim of his hat. "You think you could keep her anywhere for long?"

"Not to mention, her many friends," Russia said with a curt nod. "There are those who are not friendly with England, but are friendly with Elizabeth. And then there are those with a little power. All it takes is one friend who is close by..."

"One friend to hold out their hand and drag you across the border," Emma breathed.

Russia gave her a confused look, then shook his head.

"No, it would be counter productive to go after Elizabeth simply to tweak England's nose."

"Then that's it!" Emma cried, banging her fists against the island. "I'll take my cues from Elizabeth!"

Russia frowned.

"Wait..."

"Just become friends with as many countries as possible..."

"Wait, Emma..."

"Perhaps get some folks who are friendly, even if they aren't so keen on YOU..."

"Emma!" Russia snapped.

"You must be joking," Australia cut in, grumbling. "You, go 'round to all the nations? You, with your nose in the books?"

"It is more than simply getting to know the nations," Russia said over Australia. "Do you know how long Elizabeth stayed with me?"

"What, a few weeks? Months?" Emma said with a shrug.

"Eight years," Russia said gravely.

"Eight years?" Emma gasped.

"Eight years of being my guest while evading my capture. Believe me, Emma, it took her considerable skill."

He looked down at his bowl.

"The time it takes to gain a nation's trust is considerable," Russia said quietly. "And with the number of nations, you are taking on a venture that could take decades. Centuries."

"No, I won't allow it," Australia said simply. "You'll get yourself locked up in some prison and sold to the highest bidder."

"I managed to get out of it a few times!" Emma cried.

"Thanks to a lucky break, I'm sure," Australia said flatly. He rolled his eyes. "You know how to shoot?"

"Well, I HAVE used..." Australia gave her a look. "No."

"Any weaponry at all? You know how to fight?"

"Not really."

"How to sneak?"

"Well...no..."

"What about magic?"

Emma snorted.

"Wha? Are you joking?"

"Come on girl, you're an unkillable, unagable unnaturalness, and you want to quibble about the reality of magic?" Australia said crossly.

"Ah. You have a point. Also, no."

"Unsuited for anything but lazing about," Australia said with a half shrug.

"Then YOU lot teach me something!" Emma snapped. "Teach me all of it! By God, I will shoot and fight and, and magic and anything I must! I'll not be trapped in one spot for the rest of my days!"

Russia looked up, his eyes flashing, his smile grim.

"So my home is a trap?" he said, his voice low and grumbling. "You would rather travel the world for decades at a time than spend your days with me? And what shall I do, wait for your return like a dog as you...play with the other nations?"

Emma narrowed her eyes.

"Says the man who has a shrine to his past lovers upstairs!" she said through gritted teeth. "You cannot dare accuse me of walking out on you, Russia. I died for you! Twice!"

The couple glared at each other. Australia glanced between them.

"It IS getting late, isn't it?" he said good naturedly, stretching his arms above his head. "I -"

"Tell me, if I stay with you, would I really be your one and only?" Emma asked, loosening her jaw and cocking her head. Australia gave a sharp laugh. Russia and Emma turned their glares on him.

"Oh, come off it, both of you," he said, annoyed. "Really, Russia, a monogamous relationship? A nation? You'd be shooting yourself in the foot!"

Russia's face dropped. He looked away.

"Ah, see, you know!" Australia gave Emma a sympathetic look. "It's just in our nature, you see. Sometimes romantic love is just...part of building a lasting international relationship."

"Well, then." Emma crossed her arms and raised her brows. "I don't see why I have to be held to different standards! Not that my taking the world tour will involve tasting every country's assets."

"I could keep you here," Russia said quietly. The others grew still. Russia's eyes creeped over to Emma, twinkling a little. "I do not have to let you go. A bit of renovation, a few new locks...we could play chess every day..."

Australia stiffened and clenched his fists.

"Russia..."

Emma reached out and placed a hand on Australia's shoulder, shaking her head a little. She leaned over the island and placed both of her hands on Russia's cheeks.

"Listen, you great hulking lunk," she said, her voice cool and firm. "I love you. But I am no fickle nation. I'm not someone to conquer or to keep on a shelf like a knick-knack. I am not a pet or a toy. I will have my own life." She smiled. "Do you love me, Russia? And am I your friend?"

Russia stared at her a moment, then nodded. He gently pulled her hands from his face and squeezed them lightly.

"You would run," he said. "If I tried to keep you."

"Like a rabbit with his tail on fire," Emma said shortly. "I love you, but I'm not an idiot."

There was a pause.

"I do love you," he said finally. "And you are my friend."

"Good. That is enough for me," Emma said with a nod. "We have plenty of time to figure out the particulars, don't you think? And it's rather likely that I'll always come back to you."

Russia blinked. The glitter in his eyes was gone. He smiled and shook his head.

"Always so practical."

"I'm...not quite sure what just happened," Australia said with a confused look at Russia and Emma. "Good things, I hope?"

"Fantastic," Emma said with a toothy smile. She walked around the island and linked arms with both Russia and Australia. "Alright, my boys, let's figure out the next step, shall we? And what the hell am I going to tell my mother?"


	25. Epilogue 1

England took a deep breath of the summer air as he meandered through Hyde Park. The sun dappled through the leaves of the trees, and the cries of children playing by the fountain echoed around him. A shadow fell over him, and he frowned.

"I knew you would come eventually," he muttered, looking up at Russia. "I thought it would be much sooner, given the subject of your visit."

Russia did not reply. He stared down at England with a small, tight smile and cold eyes, matching the smaller nation's pace.

"I won't apologize," England said quickly. "It would have been wrong to trap the poor girl as you were attempting! But, of course, I certainly never wanted her death, and I offer my deepest condolences."

Russia's eyes narrowed a bit, but still he did not speak.

"I assume you are here to extract some form of revenge," England said coolly. "I am not really in the mood for threats, so if you can say your piece..."

Russia stepped in front of him forcing him to stop. England took a step back. Russia rummaged through his trousers and held out a small, empty glass bottle. England stared at it a moment and looked quickly up at Russia, eyebrows raised.

"Where...?"

"It was found at the side of the road," Russia said casually, rolling the bottle in his fingers. "I felt it should be returned to its rightful owner."

England hesitated a moment then took the bottle, shaking his head.

"So, she's alive," he murmured. He jumped as Russia placed a heavy hand on his shoulder.

"I will need your help, of course," Russia said, his eyes sparkling a bit. "My magic is less...benign than yours. I cannot teach her as you would."

"Teach her?" England said, confused. "What do you mean..."

"As your actions led me to believe that the woman I love was dead, I feel you owe me a favor," Russia said pleasantly. "She must know how to protect herself. From us."

Russia squeezed England's shoulder a bit, then released him. England frowned at the bottle. He sighed and nodded.

"You are correct," he muttered. "Send her to me when she is ready."

"Excellent." Russia beamed. "I would appreciate if you kept her survival quiet for now."

"Of course."

Russia dipped his head and walked off a bit. He paused and turned back towards England.

"One last thing," he said, flashing a toothy grin. "If you ever mettle in my personal affairs again or bring harm to one I love, England, I will claw through your borders and burn to ash every acre I pass through until my hands are around your neck."

England grew still. His teeth clenched and his eyes flashed.

"You will _try_," he snarled, his accent dropping from Oxford to the East End.

Russia smiled, pleased, gave a short wave and was gone.


End file.
